


New Chances

by Jojo1112



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Rare Pairings, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-05-18 21:12:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5943235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jojo1112/pseuds/Jojo1112
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My love for this <strong>rare pairing</strong> (and Valentine's day) inspired this story. Set between S03/04.<br/>What if they are forced to work together?  John is cooking dinner for Root... and more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N** A huge and warmhearted thank you, _ClaudiaRain_ , for everything!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own or make any money from Person of Interest.  
>  *****Remember: this is a rare pairing (Reese/Root) story. Don't like, don't read!**
> 
>  
> 
> Whenever I refer to the Machine as _she_ or _her_ it is printed in italics.
> 
> Quotes at the beginning are mostly taken from scenes with Reese and Root. (S03E21 and S03E22)

_“John...when that traffic light switches we're screwed. We can't worry about the irrelevant numbers now.”_  
_“What is 'she' thinking? Telling us to lay our heads low and...then handling us a new number?”_  
_“There's no time.”_  
_“This is a life. - And Finch would tell us to save it. - So you tell your complicated Boss, if 'she' wants me to step out of danger then I need more than just numbers. - I want a name.”_  
_Root's head flung back to the traffic light, then she answered: “Fine. 'She' is giving it to me.”_

**There was one moment they shared eye-contact, his eyes on hers, this time only filled with care and sorrow, no anger, no hatred for her, maybe nearly begging for her to understand his calling and his loyalty to Harold.  
And she understood, having herself this moment of calling and being surprised for the first time to find herself not only worrying about but also needing help from John, who had never before asked her for anything but help saving lives.**

 

It was Monday, the start of a new week, and John was on his way to his shift as a security guard for a big tech company in Jersey with a direct view to Manhattan on the other side of the Hudson. Although he didn't like at first what _the Machine_ had chosen for him, he was gradually accepting his new job.  
Living a life as an “irrelevant” still seemed strange to him: having a normal daily routine and regular working hours although from his former job as a CIA-operative, he was used to adapting easily to a new role. He missed them all: Harold and Bear. And somehow Shaw and Root, too.  
In those final moments before Samaritan went online, they had worked truly as a team.  
Not knowing when they would be together again was something he was struggling with every day.

But he recognized the advantages of this new life: most of his free time for himself, which meant normally when an irrelevant name from _the Machine_ reached him through a cellphone – because _she_ had obviously not stopped seeing him as her “contingency” - it was more difficult to leave his things and check on the situation very carefully because he was not armed anymore and was without Harold's personal help and computer assistance.  
It had cost him (besides sleep deprivation and constant exhaustion) a lot of his patience and the knowledge that – being often alone - he would not always succeed, too.  
If Fusco hadn't helped him from time to time, he would be dead.  
He couldn't find it in him to care. He just put his life in the hands of _the Machine_. Without the others there was no point in surviving anyway. 

“Who changed me into the nightshift?” he asked his companions, while studying the plan for the weekend. Normally he had only one day and the early shift since lots of them preferred the quiet nightshift on Saturday and Sunday, spending time with their families over the day.  
“I don't know,” Greg, the supervisor told him, coming along.  
“New plan came in this morning from the HR department.” He shrugged and grinned.  
“I guess Bob finally resigned.”  
John only nodded, knowing that Bob – who worked most of the night shifts – was constantly complaining about the work conditions and talking about a change of the job.

Arriving on Saturday evening, John was made familiar with a recurring problem.  
There was sometimes a thief at work for some months now, but only at night. The funny thing was that nothing really important was missing: some hard drives. Some cables. A rack. Some USB-hubs.  
Since the thief got never caught and had been only a dark figure on the surveillance cameras, not really recognizable, the rumor of a “ghost” started to spread and remained. The security guards believed no immediate danger, because an alarm was never triggered. Instead there was another murmur that someone who worked inside the company seemed to lose things permanently.

There were only two watchmen at night for the big building, one doing the patrolling in each wing while the other one stayed in the observation room near the entrance of the building. They were connected with walkie-talkies, since each checked his own area.  
The IT-section was east, the administration west, connected through the wide, big entrance-hall.  
At 10 pm only workers with special access were allowed to enter the building, and mostly they were from the IT-section on the upper floors. The main server rooms with restricted access were in the lower basement, away from the daily life of the company employees.

After doing patrol number five, one in each hour – very predictable, John thought - it started to get boring. John was tired as well, but tried to stay on alert. His coworker had been gone to the men's room.  
That's why John didn't miss the sudden dark figure on the edge on the CCTVs.  
He went straight for the IT-section, being silent and very careful. Because he had seen which direction the dark figure took, he was sure he would catch the thief.  
Following the dark figure – who seemed to know exactly where to go, how to open doors and get at last through the locked veil to the main server room – he realized something familiar about it. Could it be...?  
When the figure grabbed some hardware from one of the stacks, he grabbed the figure, too, instantly pulling the hood off – and looked directly into Root's face.  
She was a little bit shocked, he could see that she had felt safe - no wonder with _the Machine_ in her head – and was somehow surprised that he actually caught her.  
Knowing the position of the cameras, he dragged them both while shielding her around the next stacks in the direction of the exit. He knew the room under the stairs was safe from the surveillance, that's where they could talk – because he definitely had a lot of questions.

“What were you thinking? Stealing this equipment? And what for?” He demanded to know, once they were there.  
It was plain to see he was really upset.  
“I need it.” Root brushed him off. “The rest is none of your business.”  
“None of my business?” John grumbled.  
“Would you say the exact same thing if some other watchman had caught you?”  
Smiling, Root looked him in the eyes.  
“Nobody but you would have caught me anyway.” She said in that mocking, self-conscious voice of hers.  
John glanced angrily at her.  
“You should be more careful. And answer my questions before I detain you after all.”  
“And then, John?” She teased him, obviously not taking him seriously. “What would you do to me?”  
He flashed into action and pinned her against the wall.  
“You always go until there's no way back, right?” He mentioned so quiet that Root was for a second really not sure what he would do to her.  
“There's nothing you can do that wasn't already done.” She answered defiantly.  
John looked her straight in the eyes, knowing what she spoke of and stepped back.  
“You know what? I am tired of your games. Get out of here.”  
Then he turned around and left her.

He could have asked her about Harold. He could have asked her how long it would take to stay in this cover identity. And more.  
She always got him so furious, taking nothing really seriously and caring for nothing – except _her_.  
He could have used her help so badly with the irrelevant names. But why was he kidding himself that she'd ever help him?


	2. Three "dates"

_“Not now, John. - I need you for something else.”_

** > SEARCHING FOR ASSET: REESE, JOHN**  
** > ALIAS: …, JOHN**  
** > POSSIBLE SIGNAL/CELL PHONE: PREPAID; CASH PURCHASE**  
** > xxx-xxx-xxxx**  
** > VERIFYING ID**  
** > LOCATION ANALYSIS**  
** > SITUATION ANALYSIS**

** > EVALUATING STRATEGIES...**

** > CONTACTING ANALOG INTERFACE**

 

This new name – a Mr. Warner - really cost John a lot of patience. He still hadn't found out if he was a victim or a perpetrator. And even a tip from Fusco hadn't brought him further.  
The door to the rooftop creaked and startled him, but the steps coming towards him he knew. Heels, a lively step. What did she have to do here?  
He rested motionless on his observation point. The lights in the flat of Mr. Warner went out, meaning his new name had gone to bed. Time to relax. He remained silent.  
Root materialized next to him on his small camping mat.  
“I can't see anything.” She giggled low. “Can you?”  
“You lost?” John's voice was as keen as a razor.  
An annoyed look was all he got in return, and suddenly he knew she wouldn't be here if the Machine had not lead her.  
“You've got a message for me?” He asked.  
“You want one?” She retorted back.  
Silence settled between them. Neither one of them wanted to inquire again.  
One light in the flat went on, again. John grabbed his binoculars and took a look, but everything seemed okay.  
“How long are you planning to stay here?” She finally whispered.  
John sighed. “As long as I need to.”  
“You don't know for sure.” She repeated.  
“Are you here on a self-imposed basis, Root?”  
“No place I'd rather be.” She trilled, smirking.  
He sighed again, feeling very tired and cold. After coming from another nightshift, being 48 hours on foot, his knees were aching, and after running the whole day after Mr. Warner, the pain was not getting better. He tried to ignore it and stayed quiet for a long time.  
But finally his curiosity won, so he spoke again.  
“Why are you here, Root?”  
This time, recognizing the seriousness in his tone, she turned towards him.  
“ _She_ wants to help.”  
“Help?” John was lost. “Am I wrong in saving Mr....Warner?”  
“No.” She shook her head. “But you missed a clue.”  
“I did what?”  
“You're tired, John. That's why.”  
He simply snorted.  
“I get it that you try to save people, John.” She said to him again, this time without the snippy tone she so often used.  
“ _She_ told me you would need help. So here I am.”  
“Really.” John couldn't suppress some irony in his answer.  
“You sure look like hell. That's why I am here. - Go home, take a nap and then you can continue on your mission.”  
“Aren't you on a mission, too?” He passed back.  
“Get into your bed. I'll take over. Let's talk next time.” Root sounded annoyed.  
“Next time?” He said.  
“Yes, next time. And?”  
“Never thought you were the type who would repeat things.”  
She rolled her eyes.  
“Besides, there are some questions I have for your boss.”  
“And?”  
John hesitated one moment, but the pressure of knowing the whereabouts of Harold had been so big, he simply couldn't stop.  
“I'd like to know where Harold is.” He simply said.  
She looked at him incredulously, then laughed. Laughed in that way he hated about her.  
It was a laugh about people, not for people to join in.

“I can't. - And _she_ won't.”  
“ _She_ won't?”  
“ _She_ will tell when _she_ is ready. Sorry.”  
“Ready for what?”  
“Ready for...us to know, John?” So much arrogance in speaking his name.  
Root had always understood that the Machine had her own rhythm of time. But John had never had that kind of understanding.

“So it's just a coincidence that we met, right?” He couldn't stop himself from saying acridly.  
It was then that he realized that his temper – once so well guarded – was no longer under his control. He had to stop it. But he was so angry. He missed Harold and his help and his guidance.  
He wanted his former life back. He felt helpless in doing it all alone.  
Why hadn't _she_ sent Harold instead of Root?  
“Go home.” She said sharply. Gone was the friendly tone she had used before.  
Utterly exhausted, he stopped arguing, left her there and went home.

*

A few weeks later, being again in that same kind of state – sleep deprivation and desperation because the new name seemed a normal kind of guy, as well - sitting outside a cafe in broad daylight and watching the elder Mr. Forster feeding doves, someone with a familiar voice took a place beside him.  
“Such a nice old man, isn't he?”  
John didn't need to turn his head to know who sat down with him.  
“Lost again?” He said ironically.  
“Did I miss a clue, too?”  
Root rolled her eyes, sighing.  
“Would I be here if _she_ wasn't such a big fan of you?”  
“Really?” John raised his eyebrows. “Got a message for me then?” He jeered.  
“If I did, you would know by now.” She retorted back.  
“So you're here to stalk me?” He added with a smirk.  
“I'm just following _her_ orders, John.” Root sounded impatient.  
John smiled inwardly. “I know what you mean.” He answered wryly to her and he meant it, Root felt it.  
After a while, he said: “Do I have the afternoon off until my nightshift starts?”  
“You like me to take over, don't you?” Root taunted.  
Now it was on John to sigh. “Would love to let you.” He murmured to himself, feeling tired again although the strong coffee he had ordered had done him a favour. But thinking of another nightshift without a possibility to sleep – at least for some hours - made him yawn.  
It was very easy to sleep in the observation room but he didn't want to get caught since he knew that it was necessary to stay in this job as long as the Machine needed him to be.  
“See, I know my sweetie.” The way Root fluttered her eyes was very convincing and John realized in an instant that Mr. Forster just came by the table and smiled upon hearing that remark.  
When he was out of hearing range, John leaned over to Root, whispering: “You're pretty good at this. Missed a calling?”  
He stood and went straight after Mr. Forster, not waiting for her.  
It took three minutes, but then she fell into step with him, matching his stride.  
“How charming you are, sweetie. - If you waited a little bit longer I could just explain that...”  
He didn't listen to her anymore, recognizing Mr. Forster's landlord on the other side of the street, who waved at Mr. Forster. A bad feeling made John sprint forward to reach Mr. Forster in time who was already crossing the street. He remembered suddenly the important appointment Mr. Forster had mentioned before on his phone. How he kept saying 'no' and spoke of 'protection of tenants' - Mr. Forster must be a victim.  
But Root caught him in the next moment.  
"The landlord is armed.” She said.  
“And now what?” John echoed furiously at her.  
“Police are on their way, John, to catch the landlord in the act. - He won't hurt our Mr. Forster in the daylight on a busy street. There are enough witnesses who were threatened as well.”  
“ _She_ told you that?”  
Root nodded slowly. “Time to go home. This one is solved.”  
John chose to stay silent, hearing the police sirens coming. He waited until he saw the landlord being handcuffed and put into the police car. There was also a pale Mr. Forster, accompanied by a woman who had taken his arm. It seemed as if Mr. Forster would be safe.  
John turned to say a short thanks but Root was already gone.  
Well. It didn't matter.

*

A month and six names later they met again.  
John, terribly tired, only had a weary smile when he spotted her coming towards him. He stood at a fence overlooking the fair of Coney Island.  
“About time you showed up.” He noted.  
“Been busy myself.” Root said shortly.  
“Really.” John wanted to tease her a little bit.  
A deadpan look from Root made him smile broadly.  
“Got a message for me?”  
She cast him a sideway glance. “Is this you being funny?”  
John shook slowly his head. “I haven't figured out yet if Mrs. Young is a victim or a perpetrator.” He confessed.  
Silence settled between them.  
“Why are you here?” John finally asked.  
“Because _she_ told me to come?” Root answered sarcastically.  
John hesitated first, but then he replied softly: “Look, right now everything's under control. If I haven't missed a clue so far, you could leave me alone. - I got this covered. - At least until I've got to get back to my nightshift.”  
“I won't let _her_...you...down.” Was Root's harsh reply.  
“Yeah.” John let go of watching Mrs. Young who was riding the same carousel for the third time and turned towards Root.  
“I can see that you're worn-out, too.”  
Root smiled a little, but not the happy way, he could tell.  
“Changing cover every day does that to you.” She murmured. She was more than surprised that John seemed to care. His last remark implied it. Had her helping him – although she had only fulfilled _her_ wishes - eventually changed their relation a bit?  
John fell silent, not really knowing how to answer properly. He suddenly remembered that Harold had finally made peace with her after she had helped finding him going rogue after Carter's death – or at least that had been what was told him.  
It seemed that the Machine had made them both their assets now. He wondered if Harold and Shaw had the same things to do but somehow he doubted it.  
Root and him were the ones who had done way too many things the wrong way.

“How about you make us dinner tonight instead?” Root interrupted his line of thought abruptly. "Valentine's day, remember?"  
John was left speechless for a moment. “Sorry?”  
“I heard some talk about you cooking very good.” She mentioned calmly. “So? Want to invite me over? 7 pm?”  
John was more than bewildered about her question. But as there was no real cause to say 'no' he heard himself saying: “Okay.”  
Surely the Machine had something in mind with this...her and him in one room at the same table? On Valentine's day?

“Now go home. - I'll take care of Mrs. Young. Won't be too long.” She added lightly.  
“You know something that I don't?” He pushed.  
Root just turned around for one moment and smiled amused.  
“I expect nothing less than a three-course meal. - See you later.”  
She followed Mrs. Young to the next carousel.

John stayed behind, baffled again. But then he walked away, looking forward to some hours of sleep before work. And definitely not trying to think more about the “Valentine's dinner” they would share.


	3. First dinner

_“Greenfield is not the only one who can get into complex systems. I can help them. If you fill me in. - Root?”_

After some hours of sleep he felt better, but he was still confused about the events. Having dinner with Root definitely hadn't been on the top of his wish list, but he had accepted. What was this really about?  
Of course, she made him wait even though he had prepared everything on time. After one hour he gave up, left everything where it was and returned to the bed for another nap.  
The clock showed nearly 9 pm when his doorbell rang, waking him up. John was still tired when he opened the door.  
Root, looking completely disheveled, seemed to hesitate to come in, but John simply made an inviting handwave.  
“Dinner's ready.” Was all he said while she entered.  
Gentleman that he was, he helped her out of her jacket – or what was left of it.  
He just looked at her, slightly amused. “Mrs. Young took longer than expected?”  
“Don't ask.” She said to him. “I know I am late.”  
Realizing his stare, she looked herself up and down, and sighed. “That bad?”  
His answer was telling. “Bathroom is this direction, if you want to clean yourself up.”  
And then he gave her a towel and a dry white shirt from him. “I know it is too big but it will do for now. - I'm in the kitchen.”  
He left her alone.

The dress shirt in her hand was fresh from the cleaners and Root was thankful for a clear-sighted John.  
She closed the door of the clean bathroom, got rid of her soaked dirty shirt and jumped into the shower, enjoying the hot water. John only had things around that were necessary, which she noticed in a positive way.  
She got out the bathroom, feeling better and following the wonderful smell of food into the kitchen. There he was in an apron, observing her and smirking about how boyish she looked in his shirt – and certainly much younger than he had thought.  
Suddenly he felt old. No wonder _the Machine_ had chosen Root for her own crusade. Besides being convinced that following _her_ guidance was the right thing to do, Root adored _her_ and never questioned _her_. Blindly following orders was a thing he had always struggled with (but nevertheless done!) in his former CIA-days so he was more than skeptical of Root nowadays doing the same.

“Smells good.” she admitted, taking a place at the table that was set for two people.  
He shook his head slightly as if to get rid of his thoughts, which made her say very carefully: “Something wrong with this kind of get-together?”  
“Do you want to leave?” He asked instead, setting the wonderful smelling pots in front of her at the table.  
“There's no cage for you, anyway.” He added ironically, reminding her of the time she had spent in the library behind closed iron bars.  
Smiling, she replied: “One could say, we've already spent some time together.”  
He took the adjacent place to her at the table and lifted the lid of the pan, shoving it in her direction.  
“Due to circumstances, first and second course together: Caesar salad. Baked rosemary potatoes and carrots in salted butter, but the herbal topped steak that had been medium is now well-done after standing too long.” He mentioned calmly and then they were both busy with eating and enjoying the food.  
“I'm sorry for the steak.” Root stated.  
“Should be eaten on time.” He answered dryly.  
A look at the time told him to hurry because his nightshift started soon, so he stood and went to the fridge, getting a crystal bowl filled with something dark and creamy.  
“Third course: mousse au chocolat.” He rasped while serving.  
Root swallowed.  
Dark chocolate. Her favorite. How could he have known?

And suddenly, she remembered a similar situation, nearly two years ago. Then it had been a hotel suite with flowers and dark chocolate and her having a little 'panic attack'. Part of it she had played, part of it she had truly felt in hoping her plan would work. She remembered especially his soft touch on her hands while giving her the chocolate. And he had always been friendly, more than that, kind towards her. - What was she thinking?  
But the memory continued with another scene: both of them on the balcony where she had relaxed and asked herself for the first time _what kind of man_ John was, as he was coming towards her, touching her slightly in concern and asking her if she was okay.  
She also remembered the tender way he was holding her hand while escaping in a rush through the stairwell and exits. He had never stopped holding her, encouraging her and sheltering her from the danger she was in.  
Of course, she had called that bounty-hunt on herself, moving towards a goal named Harold Finch, but believing otherwise, John hadn't stopped protecting her until the last second.  
All in all he had never tried to come to close and had never forced anything from her like all the others did before from such a nice, brunette, small girl who seemed to fulfill a lot of men's dreams.  
She shook herself mentally. Where did these thoughts suddenly come from?

After eating way too much of the dessert than she should have, she suddenly was so tired that she leaned backwards and laid her head on the chair-back.  
He watched her for some time, then he finally made a decision.  
“If you want to stay, my bedroom is over there.” He simply pointed out.  
Wait! What? He offered her his room?  
“Where would you sleep then? “ She asked, not lifting her head.  
“I won't be here. My nightshift starts in fifteen minutes so I have to hurry. - Besides, you won't be here anymore when I come home, right?” He joked and then he went to get her another blanket, and in leaving the door to his bedroom open, he added: “Room is all yours.”  
“Got something for a nightcap, too?” Root yawned.  
“Here.” He planted a bottle of whiskey and a glass before her. “Serve yourself. I'll need to go.”  
“Drinking alone isn't fun.” Root complained in her mocking voice.  
John leaned down to her, sounding a little bit irritated. “Since your boss is the boss over my life, too, no exceptions for me. Gotta go to work.”  
And he left her instantly.

When he came home a little bit after 6 am in the morning it was still dark outside and very quiet in his apartment. Root must have left.  
Although used to being long on his feet, this time John could barely stand. He definitely needed some sleep again so he just went straight to his bed and – found her surprisingly there. She was still here in his apartment?  
He mulled over it for some time, but being too tired to care he laid himself down beside her.  
He knew he should have stayed awake, senses on alert because of her, but being on his feet for many hours with only a nap in between, exhausted, was more than his body was willing to give. He slept within seconds.  
He didn't know why he suddenly trusted her, but he did. He wasn't sure of anything, only that some change had sunk into him gradually because she had helped him to save people. Surely because of _the Machine's_ orders, but he was starting to count on Root and was convinced she wouldn't fail him.  
When he woke up about noon, she was gone. Should he be worried? He decided not.  
So he went back to his daily routine, saving people in daylight and working at night.


	4. Second dinner

_“Still the faithful watchdog, huh?”_  
_“Are you gonna help us or not?”_  
_“I'd thought you never ask.”_

Another week passed. John tried to save two new names. For one he was succesful, for the other he failed because he wasn't there in time when it happened. Just coming right away from his nightshift in the early morning, he went to the place where the 'Person of Interest' lived, but all he found were the blue lights of the police cars and of an emergency stretcher carrying a dead body.  
So when he came home, his frustration, anger and rage hit the boiling point. He missed Harold more than ever before: his knowledge, his help and his participation.  
Where had Root been when he needed her the most?  
He just got out of his uniform and went in a shirt and boxer shorts to his kitchen – and froze in his tracks.  
There she was. Sitting at his table and smiling.  
“You lost?” He mentioned angrily while he continued to go open the fridge.  
“Been found.” She retorted. “You're cooking? I'm starving.”  
He stood there for one moment, speechless.  
Then he decided to ignore her.  
“Come on, John. - What's wrong?”  
“Nothing.” He simply gave back.  
“I know what happened.” She admitted.  
“So where have you been?” He replied, fast.  
“Running a complicated errand.” She sighed.  
“Yeah. Doesn't matter anyway.” He murmured.  
He had found the bottle of milk, took it and vanished in the direction of the bathroom.  
“Breakfast?” Root shouted after him.  
“Get out.” Was John's only answer.  
“Look I'm only here because _she_ 's got a new name for you.”  
In seconds, he was back in the kitchen.  
“Tell me.”  
Root sighed. “I would like to eat first. Haven't tasted food for over a day.”  
He folded his arms, placing himself in front of the fridge. “You have to earn it first. - My name.”  
“Really?” She gave him a very convincing smile, but he stayed where he was.  
“Alright.” She threw a dramatic look to the fridge, which, she knew, was well-stocked.  
“Mrs. Patricia Clark.”  
“Is there more that you can tell me?”  
“Food, remember?”  
He threw her an annoyed look, but opened his fridge and pulled some plastic containers, filled with his appetizing food, out. He opened them, set a plate with cutlery in front of her and put a bit from each container onto it.  
Root didn't hesitate one moment and started immediately to eat.  
John watched her. She must have really been starving the way she scarfed his food down.  
“Too much engaged with _her_ orders to eat?” He wanted to rile her a little bit.  
Her honest answer surprised him.  
“This time, yes.” She admitted while pointing to his boxes. “More...?”  
“Never seen you with this ravenous appetite.” He joked and placed the containers on the table within reach.  
She looked up, weighing his joke, and came close to an honest smile. “Who's able to resist your cooking skills?”  
John shook his head. “I'll go get dressed.”  
Root looked after him, still eating. She wondered if he had ignored her compliment – because it had been one - deliberately.

They followed Mrs. Clark through the whole city over the day. It turned out to be her shopping day so in the end even Root was asking herself what kind of threat for that lady existed. They didn't know until the end, when she finally seemed to want to return home.  
She stood there on the departure track of Grand Central Station when a man in a black trenchcoat showed again. John and Root had seen him twice near her, but he had always disappeared quickly. This third time he just went straight to her, shoving her while passing - and the whistle of the approaching train made clear what was about to happen.  
Root, standing closer to her, started to run and saved Mrs. Clark from falling down on the track. But a panic-fueled Mrs. Clark pushed her away, causing Root to fall off the platform and onto the tracks.  
John, running as well, struck the man down with one blow. He watched Root falling backwards onto the tracks, jumped after her and pushed them both into a hollow on the other railside just seconds before the train pulled into the station past them, only centimeters away.  
He could hear the cries and the tumult of the people on the platform for just one moment and then the opening of the doors of the train and passengers who alighted predominated anything else.  
And he could feel Root in his arms, obviously shocked.  
Root had not yet clearly grasped what and how it had happened that she had to fear for her life from one moment to another. But she understood that John had jumped after her without thinking.  
And there it was: John's loyalty. It never ceased to amaze her. And Root realized that he had expanded his 'devotion' to include her as well. He saved her.  
She shook her head, tried to hold back the sudden tears dwelling in her eyes. Not now. Not in front of him. No way she would show him he had touched a string in her.  
For a moment, feelings ran through her she hadn't felt in a long time. Protection. Shelter. And something in his touch that made her think of more...  
Too shortly, the moment was over. The train was slowly starting and finally passing.  
John pulled her away from the wall and took her with him back to the track. She followed, knowing full well that her cheeks were flushed but she tried to forbid herself to think further on that topic.  
“It was risky, what you did there.” He said shortly.  
“I was closer to her, not you.” She replied.  
“Root...”  
“Let it be, John. Mrs. Clark is safe for now, that's all that matters. To you, anyway.” She spoke in a hasty way.  
He eyed her closely, but repeated nothing while she tried to clean herself from the dirt of the rails.  
The sudden rumbling of her stomach made them both aware that it was early in the evening.  
He leaned towards her.  
“If you behave yourself in the future I might consider cooking dinner for you again tonight.”

On their way back to his apartment Root had been quiet.  
John could only guess why, but didn't want to ask. He also wasn't sure if his idea of dinner had been that good.  
After arriving, he sent her with one of his clean shirts into the bathroom again and went into the kitchen, thinking about what he had to offer. This time it would not be a three-course-meal, but maybe lasagne and for dessert, a cut-up and sugared pancake with raisins and homemade apple sauce would cheer her up.  
She came back into the kitchen and paused in the doorway, still silent. Watching her like this, John decided to distract her from musing.  
“I could use your help.” He said to her.  
She looked up, clearly interrupted in her line of thoughts, but surprised that he asked.  
He could see that she was weighing her answer, so he added: “Dinner would be ready quicker.”  
She sighed. “I don't know if I'm up to your cooking skills, John.”  
A small smile on his lips, he gave her an apron and one of his best Japanese knives.  
“Cross that bridge when you get to it.” He noted earnestly and turned to the countertop.  
Puzzled, Root stared after him. What had this been about? Being considerate? Not really?  
“What can I do?” Root asked finally, stepping up to John.  
“Here.” He shoved the vegetables – shallots, red pepper, carrots, zucchini and eggplant – to her. “Slice and put them in that bowl.”  
“Alright.” Root took the knife and started to work. On one hand it felt awkward, being in John's kitchen and acting at his side. On the other hand it felt surprisingly normal doing just that after spending the whole day with him running through the city. She asked herself whether Harold had appreciated the same in working with John: a quiet, thoughtful and responsive team mate?  
Of course she cut her finger while thinking. Pay attention, she scolded herself, when John ran for band-aid and disinfectant.  
“Here.” He stepped up to her and cared for her quickly but tender like someone who did this often enough.  
“Thanks.” Root said, a little bit embarrassed. She was used to John being rude to her (as she was, too) but simply not caring for her in that way.  
Although she suddenly remembered how carefully he had tended to the gunshot wound in her shoulder she got from Shaw after kidnapping Harold and looking for _the Machine_ in that big building – only to see that _she_ had moved.  
Why did her memory always turn on when he did something unexpected?

She turned back to the vegetables and continued as if nothing had happened.  
They worked together in silence, and John showed her some minutes later how to piece his vegetable lasagne together.  
While the lasagne was in the oven, he prepared the dough for the pancake and the applesauce, making her sit at the kitchen table when he realized how tired she looked.  
Root was not ungrateful. She was still a little bit confused, not only about the events but about herself as well. Watching John cooking was so different from him...being a helper monkey. He acted with grace, fluid movements, knowing exactly what to do (in a way like _the Machine_ spoke through her cochlear implant) instead of being a subordinate. She was indecisive. Did she like him better this way or better when she could order him around? She also hadn't figured out so far why _she_ liked him so much to make him _her_ asset and make Root go after him to help, support and protect him. Maybe that was _her_ intention behind this, not only to make them work together but also to show them how well it could go?  
The beep of the oven brought her thoughts to a halt. John had already set the table for two and placed the wonderful smelling lasagne in front of her, shoving a big piece on her plate. He also had the pancakes ready and sat down with her.  
“Enjoy your meal.” He rasped and then they ate in a peaceful silence together.  
While enjoying the tasty food, Root decided for herself that she really could get used to John cooking for her.  
After the wonderful cut-up and sugared pancake with raisins and a lot of applesauce, she thought that after all this day couldn't have ended better.  
John was already on his feet, hurrying.  
“Gotta go to my nightshift.” He said to her, slipping in his jacket. And then, after a slight hesitation: “You're welcome to settle in. I won't be here until early morning.”  
He was out of the door before Root had a reply ready, leaving her wondering again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you wished, here is John cooking for Root again, _ClaudiaRain_!


	5. Third dinner!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**
> 
> This chapter took me a while, sorry. I wanted to do the next step (UST) in the relationship of Reese and Root.  
> Without the help of _ClaudiaRain_ and _Lizzy_ , I would still linger in the middle of nowhere.  
> Thank you both.
> 
> And another thank you, _capitainpistol_ and attmenbag.

_“That power you have, I've had it too. - I know just what it's like to have all those answers buzzing in your ear but at the end of the day, you still make choices and if the choice you're making now gets Cyrus killed -”_  
_“Whatever happens, I'll be there to save him. Just like I was there to save you.- After everything we've been through together, John, you really should trust me.”_  
_(S03E17)_

When he had come home after his nightshift – working two hours overtime – Root had left.  
Being very tired, he climbed onto his bed without eating. Sleep first. He never knew when a new name would come in. At least, this was his free day once a week.  
He must have slept four hours when his phone buzzed. The clock showed around midday. Outside it was raining. He sighed and got up.  
After a shower, he called Fusco while fetching something to eat. He was so tired he just wanted to return to his bed.  
The new name – a Mr. Miller – had no records in the police data base so far and seemed an ordinary guy, working in an office. This was just great. It meant observing the whole time until he would recognize the danger Mr. Miller was in. Or got others into? Sometimes he wished... to be in 'God-mode' again, only to get a clue on what could happen a little bit faster. At least in those times where he was so damn tired because of the real life he had to live, too.  
He tried not to think about how badly he missed having Harold at his side. But surely the Machine had her reasons why. His theory was still based on the fact that both Root and he had the skills to protect the names and the history behind them to do so. So the only light at the end of his tunnel nowadays was that Root might show up and help him. He was astonished at himself for thinking of her, but he had to admit they saved the numbers efficiently as well and maybe because she was his only anchor in life right now. They hadn't talked about the last event – saving Mrs. Clark and what followed after - either. Although he was pretty sure it hadn't changed anything. Root would keep her opinion about him whatever he did. He could sense her contempt everytime. Not that he cared that much. At least not until now, when they were forced to save people more and more together. Forced by _her_? But he wasn't ungrateful. It had spared him a total breakdown, so to say. The chance to continue saving lives which had become his personal crusade... or better his personal atonement. _Maybe_ a little similar to Root?

It happened as he had predicted. Or had hoped? Root showed up in the afternoon when he was still observing Mr. Miller. The middle aged man worked in his office for a long time and did not really have a lot of visitors.  
John, spending his time on the rooftop of the bureau across, noticed her presence beside him at once.  
“No personal errands?”  
As always, Root rolled her eyes.  
“Done for today. What are you doing?” She answered.  
“Got a new name: Mr. Miller. Pencil pusher, so far.”  
She nodded. “Been told. Tonight he's working overtime.” One look back to him. “You okay?”  
John looked really exhausted. Root knew by now that _she_ also sent her often as _his_ backup. These were desperate times, leading two lives at once. And John would never give up on a name.  
His questioning gaze told her she had surprised him. She wanted to tell him _that_ she cared and that she had learnt her lesson – a recurring discussion between them, obviously – but a voice in her ear distracted her.  
“That's just great.” She sighed. “His stepfather was released today.”  
“Released? From prison? _She_ told you?” He asked back, having watched her.  
“Yes.” Root nodded. “Maybe that's our threat?”  
“Hope so.” John murmured.  
“Somewhere else to be?” Root gave back. It was always so easy to make fun of him, taking it all so seriously.  
But he nearly smiled. “Bed?” It shouldn't have sounded so suggestive, but it did.  
He earned raised eyebrows and, after some seconds: “Is that an invitation?”  
He almost knew what she wanted to imply, but he stayed silent. No way he would give her an answer. In particular when she was only mocking him again and again.  
They stayed for another half an hour on the rooftop, John glad for the fresh air. He was still fighting his tiredness. But the same seemed to apply for Root because she was quiet, too. He had observed the dark circles around her eyes.  
“Could go home, if you like to.” He joked to her, breaking the silence.  
He was cast a sideways glance. “ _She_ told me to stay with you.”  
“Really? What else for?” He couldn't suppress some irony.  
“To tell you what to do, in case?” She mocked him.  
“Something you enjoy too much to miss, Root?” He taunted.  
Another sideways glance. “You drunk?”  
She didn't seem to take _his_ taunting the right way.  
Silence settled between them again.  
But then she suddenly patted him on the shoulder. “He's moving.”  
“So are we.” John let Root go first, almost delighted to leave the rooftop.  
They followed Mr. Miller from work to his home – and realized that his stepfather was home, too, when they watched Mr. Miller's apartment from the other side. Those seemed to get in an ugly argument immediately and so John and Root ran across the street and burst through the door. Just in time to snatch the weapon his stepfather had aimed at Mr. Miller and save the day. The son was called nasty names by his stepfather while the police – Fusco nodding shortly to them both, seeing them in the shadows on the other side of the street - arrested him.  
They would never admit it, but they both were relieved that the name was done.  
“I'm starving.” Root mentioned. “Got something to eat?”  
John had almost expected her question. “Something.” He replied.

This time, dinner was as usual: Root requested the possibility to take a shower and got a fresh shirt and a towel from John while he prepared dinner – but along with the question if her home weren't equipped with running water.  
She hesitated, but answered nevertheless. It was the first specific question from John after her whereabouts. “Sometimes I don't have enough time when _she_ calls me. Besides, some hotel rooms aren't kept clean like your bathroom.” She smiled in a tired way.  
“You change hotels every night?” He asked, astonished.  
“Changing cover every day does include that.” She said, as a matter of fact.  
He eyed her, wanting to ask more but nodded then instead: “You know where to find my bathroom.”  
And he went into the kitchen.  
Root _had_ wanted to tell him more. As strange as it was, he of all people was the one who shared her life now – beside the Machine. She never had wanted his company, but she had come to feel a little bit at home with him, the two of them together. He was her only constant nowadays. How desperate must I feel when I consider John a friend now, she was thinking. But desperate times called for desperate measures, she mused and smiled. And, of course, she was really getting used to his cooking. And... to his care.  
Dinner was ready when she entered his kitchen and took her place at the table set for two. Salad and potato gratin. How did he conjure this up so quickly?  
They ate in silence.  
After her basic needs – shower and food - were met, Root wanted to talk.

“You wanna stay silent the whole evening?” She asked John.  
“You tell me.” John tilted his head. “Since saving numbers is the only thing we do together...”  
Root leaned forward. “We could...”  
John shook his head. “Don't play smart with me, Root.” He stood up and collected the dishes. “And you're free to go, by the way. Dinner's over.”  
She looked after him when he went to the counter. To be honest, she didn't want to leave. She was at peace with herself and tired in a comfortable way. Also she had started to like John's quiet and minimalistically furnished apartment. A kind of temporary shelter. Since the only thing waiting for her was another empty hotel room.  
“Alright. How about a game?”  
He looked surprised, but he answered quickly: “I'm not up to your games.”  
She smiled and went for the bottle of Whiskey he had put in front of her the last time.  
“Q and A?” She said and waved with the bottle.  
His doubting look made her add: “I know that you did that a lot in the army. I know tomorrow's your free day. And I know there's no new name tonight.”  
John's reaction was a slight frown, but finally he returned to the table with two tumblers.  
She poured some whiskey in, but John waited.  
“First one's on me.” He rasped. “Harold.”  
“I don't know where he is... I swear. _She_ didn't tell me about Shaw either.” Root sounded almost desperate and took a shot, nevertheless.  
But then she suddenly was very quick. “Women.”  
His answer no less quick. “Two.”  
Root rolled her eyes. “Not really.”  
He smirked.  
“The ones you loved not the ones you had in bed. - There's a difference to be made.” She smirked back.  
“Is it.” He commented dryly, not going any further.  
“Your mother.” Now he had caught her off guard.  
“I...” She swallowed, looked sideways. Took a shot. She could've told him that she had hated to live outside town and was happy to leave after her mum's death. That the only positive thing for her - mum working so many hours – had been to stay in the library. To have access to computers. But she didn't.  
Instead she asked back: “Family.”  
A hard look on John's face. “Old one or new one?” He rasped.  
Root's look back was questioning.  
John hesitated, but decided to give it a try. “With the work I've done... we're walking in the dark.”  
His choice of words sounded cryptic and Root sensed him to be miles away. Time for another topic.  
“A.I.” Was her next demand.  
“Helpful, but not perfect.” He replied slowly.  
“ _She_ is disagreeing, you know.” Root smiled a little.  
“The Machine.” He queried.  
“ _She_ gave me a purpose. And a job.” Root continued smiling.  
John's eyebrows shot up. “A job?”  
“I... tried to prevent the emergence of a second machine. Samaritan.” Root admitted quietly. Shook her head. Made a pause. “Kara.”  
”What...how do you know...? Never mind.” He shook his head vehemently, drinking.  
Root poured them both another whiskey into the tumblers.  
“Cyrus.” He mentioned calmly.  
The bottle spilled some drops and Root looked at him directly. “You knew him, too.” She replied, after all. Put the bottle away. “I saved his life instead of the superconducting processor. You were there. What's this question for?”  
John returned the look softly. “To remember your job is to save lives?”  
“I do remember.” She retorted, almost aggressive. “Aren't we a team now? Why am I taught this lesson over and over again?”  
He spoke softly. “I intended it as a compliment.” That kept her quiet.  
“Hanna.” Root said finally, with a very sad smile.  
John stopped short. “What about her?”  
“You tell me, because you found her.”  
He hesitated one moment and shook his head. “Joss did. I was busy tracking you and the book 'Flowers for Algernon'.”  
This time, he had surprised her. “You did that by yourself?  
His mouth twitched. “I was an international spy, once.”  
Root was still surprised. “Detective Carter? She was with you?”  
“Yes.” Was his short answer.  
A short pause followed with them both taking another slug of whiskey.  
“Hanna.” John repeated.  
Root almost crumbled. “Hanna... was my best friend.”  
Her eyes were fixed on him. “I always wanted to know how you got Barb – our librarian – to make a confession... when I was only yelled at.” She said. Fury blazed in her eyes. In a cruel way, Root was thinking that John would have rescued Hanna – if _she_ had told him then. She was quite certain.  
In this moment, he faced her very close. “You were a child, Samantha Groves.” He said softly. And there it shimmered through again: John's human decency that he wore still inside him – although many bad things had been done to him, too. A longer pause followed, both drinking again, relaxing against their chair backs.  
“Harold.” She reinserted with a smile, at last.  
John only raised his eyebrows.  
The alcohol made her a little bit cocky.  
“What does he have that I don't?” She asked, blinking.  
John's first impulse was to answer 'He's my friend. Are you?' but he decided against it. Better to defeat her with her own arguments.  
“Jealous? I always thought you liked women, Root. Like Shaw?”  
“Cute.” She teased back and leaned all of a sudden forward. “Like you?”  
Raised eyebrows again, questioning. John took another shot of the whiskey, a little bit confused. What were her intentions? To drop a hint that she _started_ to like him?  
But he wasn't in the mood to give in and leaned forward, too.  
“What's your purpose here, Root?”  
“You think I have one?” She smiled, talking in that mocking tone of hers.  
“You always do.” He retorted.  
They looked eye to eye now.  
“Wouldn't know me without one, ha.” She answered finally.  
“Everybody's got an angle.” He spoke calmly.  
“So what's yours here?” Root toyed provocatively.  
John shook his head again, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Never at a loss for a counter question.”  
Root smiled again. “If I didn't know you better, I would say you're _starting_ to like it.”  
She wasn't done teasing him. “Although I can't imagine all your women to be so dull and sober.”  
For a short moment, a spark of a feeling went through him and made him smile back.  
“You would be surprised.” He teased back.  
“I would? Tell me.” She grinned and tilted her head.  
This was getting a little bit out of hand.  
“Another time.” A sudden wave of fatigue with the last slug of whiskey made him yawn. He stood up. “Need my sleep.”  
Whatever had hovered between them was gone. In Root's voice the seriousness was back. “I understand.” She stood up, too. A little bit shaky.  
“You're up to making it to your hotel room?” He asked, watching her.  
She hesitated. He made it sound so easy, the unspoken invitation. But his care baffled her again and again.  
“Can I... stay?”  
Another twitch of his mouth. “I'll go for the blankets.”  
He returned with them and an airbed, which he inflated for her.  
“Since when do you own...?” She asked and he answered: “Since yesterday. Calculated for more dinners.”  
He showed her how the inflation worked when air was lost.  
“Good night.” Was all he finally added and disappeared into his bedroom.  
And Root was left alone again, wondering. He calculated for more dinners?


	6. A kiss?

_“That's the problems with humans. They just sit around, hoping that someone will fix things. But no one will. No one cares.”_   
_(S03E17)_

John woke up after a long exhausted sleep with a little hangover. He definitely had too much of that whiskey. The clock showed nearly noon. Had he heard the door click somewhere in between? He wasn't sure. Anyway, a long shower and a lot of water along with breakfast would make him feel better.  
He stumbled outside his bedroom, slightly irritated by the rays of sunshine that filled his apartment with a wonderful light and went into the kitchen for water. After the first swallows, the pounding in his head started to get better.  
A snoring sound made him spin. Root?   
The door of the living room across the corridor was wide open and John could see her sleeping figure sprawled upon the airbed.  
Must have had a pretty hangover, too, he suspected with an amused smile. He grabbed a bottle of water and put it next to her bed, looking down at her. The long, curly hair framed her calm face in a beautiful way. Suddenly he remembered the dress she wore as Caroline Turing which had suited her well. Even Zoe Morgan – a woman with a keen eye, he had come to learn - had called her 'cute'.   
Fool that he was, he hadn't known any of her intentions _then_. She had just let him do his job, waiting peacefully to meet Harold. But a lot of his anger at her had been drained out by _now_.   
That she needed some kind of togetherness surprised him. Not really the lone wolf he had always suspected, it seemed. If he could only figure out what the behavior towards him recently meant. She really started to get through to him. A good sign? Or probably more a bad sign?   
He just left, going for his shower. Cold. To come to his senses.

The smell of fried onions and scrambled eggs woke Root up. A splitting headache made her moan quietly. Damn. Too much whiskey. And the sunlight didn't do anything to improve her condition. So much light, it almost hurt. She put an arm over her eyes and wished herself to be somewhere else.  
After some minutes, a voice beside her said softly: “Breakfast is ready. Please, come over. You can shower afterwards.” Leaving a fresh and fragrant wave of a man's deodorant behind.  
She risked one eye, but he was already returning into the kitchen.   
He made breakfast for her? Now Root was _really_ confused. “What time is it?” She asked him.  
“A quarter past one pm.” He said from the kitchen.  
Root straightened cautiously, still confused. The voice in her ear was quiet. Her first impulse was to run out of John's apartment, but she was simply too worn down. She had _always_ succeeded in leaving silently _before_ she met her 'mornings after'... and that kind of applied for John's apartment, too. Now she was confronted with her carelessness. First... breakfast. Then... facing the situation.  
Finally, she stood up and shuffled over to the kitchen – wearing John's long shirt only. Right now, she didn't care. And she was pretty sure, neither did John. She had tried different tactics to lure him out of his snail-shell but had failed so far.  
Slowly, she sat down at the table. Did he have such a headache, too?  
The way he eyed her shortly and pushed some pills over, obviously. “In case you need them, take two of them.” He suggested, softly.  
She did, and after she had emptied the big glass of water she felt a little better. Although still unwell, she ate some of the eggs with bread. The food slowly soothed her acid stomach.  
But afterwards, she still hung there, her head in both of her hands, eyes closed. Dizzy, jittery. Her head was spinning. It wasn't possible... Oh hell, why did she put so much weight on him making her breakfast? She was plainly not used to someone who cared so much as John did. She had done a lot of things to him and yet... he made her breakfast, nevertheless. She almost got angry with him. He didn't have the right... to act like this... and make her feel... like she was really at home? Besides, she never had a relationship that long to _wish_ to stay for breakfast.  
“Root.” His gentle voice interrupted her rattling train of thoughts while clearing the table. “Are you okay?”  
Was she okay? Yes and no. John finally started to get through to her with his approaches and she wasn't sure if he did this on purpose... or simply was being his usual self. Judging from the way she knew he acted, the latter was the most probable solution. Damn. That's not what she wanted. Needed. Welcomed. He wasn't even her type. The only thing she was sure of – ironically, and she would bet her last shirt on it – was that John was one of those rare men who fulfilled any woman's dream. What was she thinking?  
“How about a shower, Root?” John had asked again, but she had missed it, utterly absorbed in the whirl of her mind.  
He watched her for some minutes now and when he still got no reaction from her, he made a decision, worrying. She looked like she would faint. The hangover must have caught her badly. Very softly, he took her in his arms, pulled her up in one momentum – easy weight that she was - and carried her to the bathroom.  
The closeness to him – feeling cared for - put her finally into action. “Let me go !” She started to resist him. Still confused. Angry. “What are you doing?”  
His grip tightened. “Helping you out.” He answered. He just placed her dressed like she was under the warm shower before Root could react again.  
“I'm outside if you need me.” He rasped and closed the bathroom door.  
Root just stood there and let the water soak her through. She was furious. If she had a gun, she would have just shot him. Who was he to act like this? His place was no longer a place she wanted to be. And she was always good at running away. On the way out, she already had a plan from the Machine in her ears about how to leave John's apartment building fully dressed. The rest could wait for the shop around the next corner.  
John had realized that Root practically fled out his apartment, but he let her go. This time, _he_ was the one left wondering.

Over a week, he managed two names alone, by himself. Always wondering where she was and if she avoided him. Not only wondering... but worrying.  
Going to work tonight seemed to be a relaxing alternative. He wasn't that tired anymore while doing his nightshift the last few days. And it was almost fun going on patrol each hour. At least it helped distract him from other things on his mind... called Root. He was still unsure about their last cross examination while drinking _and_ what had happened after breakfast.  
Was he her new pastime since Shaw and Harold seemed unreachable for her and the Machine didn't want to reveal anything about their whereabouts? What were all those questions for? Not really getting to know him better? He shook his head. He really wondered a lot about her lately.   
She had never made a secret of her opinion of him. And her contempt.  
He had never forgiven her for abducting Harold. Once? Twice. But he was digging up old stuff, wasn't he?  
Fact was, she had rescued him – or at least, had helped Harold to rescue him in his state of going rogue after Joss' death. And hadn't he rescued her recently in the hunt after Mrs. Clark? He sighed. He hadn't paid attention for one moment, and she sneaked in his head.  
Staring at the monitors, a sudden dark figure on the CCTV made him suspicious and distracted him again. But the shadow... he was familiar with! What was she doing _here_? Not stealing more equipment?  
He just wanted to jump out of the room when the cell phone of his new coworker – what was his name? Gregory? - buzzed.  
“Sorry, I really have to take this.”   
John sighed but nodded. Which meant he had to stay in the observation room and wait until the other one was finished. Of course, the shadow had vanished in the meantime.  
But exactly one minute later she slipped into the room with him.   
“Root?” No way to describe his surprise and his relief that she really showed up.  
She slipped him a note. “New name.”  
He looked at her. “I'm at work.”  
Root nodded and put her head into direction of the door. “He is, too.”  
A questioning look from John, then he checked the name on the note. His new colleague. “Really?”  
She shrugged her shoulders. “Good luck. I'm coming back later when you're finished.”  
“That a promise or a threat?” He joked.  
“You decide.” A cold answer.  
She was already out of the observation room before he could react and when he reached the door, Gregory stood in front of him. “You expecting someone?” He asked.  
John allowed himself a small smile. “Just checking if you're okay.”  
Gregory cast him a short glance, obviously not sure how John had meant it, but the smile convinced him of the better. “That boring the whole night?”  
John nodded. “Almost.”  
Thankful that he had a conversation starting, he tried to keep it going. Throughout the whole night, he kept including more questions to have a better picture of Gregory. Although he didn't learn much, a little bit was revealed. Gregory was recently divorced and had to pay alimony for his wife and his daughter. His hurt was obvious, that's why John didn't dig deeper. But he sensed the problem there, since he knew no danger was coming from work. Maybe the daily surveillance afterwards would shed some light on his situation. The rest of the nightshift was quiet.

When they both left the company's entrance in the early morning, Root was in fact waiting for John outside and approached them, smiling. She seemed to be in a better mood than yesterday. Little did he know that she had a plan for revenge for putting her under the shower.  
John saw Gregory's admiring look – as did Root – and heard his low question: “That's your girlfriend?”  
Before John had an answer ready, he was kissed by her. Not a kiss of friendship. Not a soft one. Not a romantic one. A passionate one.   
He was completely taken by surprise – as were the reactions of his body when she pressed herself against him. It felt overwhelmingly good... and so intoxicating.  
Of course she broke the kiss shortly after, leaving John a little bit breathless. But since she turned to Gregory and said: “Hi, I'm... Samantha,” he had a short five seconds to regain his countenance.  
Gregory smiled first to her and then to a still speechless John. “I'm Gregory, John's new coworker on the nightshift. Enjoy your day! See you in the evening, John.”  
John only nodded back and put his hands in the pockets of his coat. He didn't want to ask what... the kiss was for. He just wanted to go back to business and forced himself to put everything aside. He knew Root's playful side. And he guessed the kiss was just part of it, suspecting her messing with him.  
“Samantha now?” He asked as calmly as he could while walking slowly after Gregory.  
“I'm not that person anymore.” Root answered him cheerfully, a little bit forced. “But I didn't want to scare him off.”  
“Or you may now be that person more than ever before.” John attested seriously. “You caught his fancy.”  
Root's voice changed into the mocking tone of hers. “I catch a lot of fancies, John. Good thing you seem to be immune.”  
Her remark transmitted a gentle sting. To rub it in his face after she kissed him? After the breakfast? I can do that, too, he thought and argued: “Besides, what's wrong with Samantha Groves?”   
“Can we drop this now?” A bored answer.  
John was persistent. “She tried to save her friend.”  
It took a while, but then he got her dry statement: “But failed.”  
Suddenly John stopped their walk, turning to her at his side. “We all fail. That's human.” He rasped.  
She scrutinized him. “You did a lot, for sure.” Mocking.  
“And who are you to judge?” He gave back. Ironic.  
They stood there, eyes interlocked, almost in fighting position. _Close_.  
She shifted from flirting to attack and retreat.  
But Root was the first to break their eye contact and stepped back, as if realizing this wasn't her intention, searching for Gregory. “Look I'm only here because _she_ told me to be here. Where did he go? We lost him.”  
John looked for him now, too. Not the first time he lost track of a number or a name, but the third time Root was the cause. Of course she was only here because of _her_ which brought him down a peg or two. He should be more careful.   
He pulled out his cell phone but Root was faster.  
“I asked _her_ to find him for us.” She said coolly and turned to the right. “This way.”   
He followed her. In the end, they were both running. It seemed to be urgent.  
After four corners, they finally detected him on the other side of the street. John immediately recognized his ex-wife from the photo Gregory had showed him. Obviously, they had an argument going while walking slowly on the pavement.  
They followed the couple quietly, still on the other side of the street. But not understanding anything because of the traffic made them change the side. Finally, they came within hearing distance. Fortunately, the argument was loud enough.  
“...you still speak of him like he would have done everything right...” Gregory sounded bitter now, putting his hands in the pocket of his jacket.  
His ex-wife looked at him, a face mixed of emotions.   
“Complicated.” Root whispered and John nodded. Just like us, he thought.  
“I know he was your best friend, Gregory – and that's why I...” The ex-wife began.  
“Martha, he didn't tell you about his problems with jealousy, right? Are you prepared for a life under complete control?” Gregory begged her. “I only want you to think about it again before you and Tessa move in with him...”  
Martha seemed to stop. “What do you know of his jealousy? - And why do you bring it up now when...”  
Gregory took her hand. “Martha, I still love you. I don't want you to be hurt again. I know of my faults, but you don't know of his... I wanted to warn you, that's why I asked you to meet me here...”  
They stood now at the corner of a crossroad, so John and Root stopped, too, turning immediately to a shopping window. Seeing that special look on her face and knowing the Machine was talking to her, he whispered: “What does _she_ say?”   
Root shook her head. “ _She_ says we should pay attention to a red car...”  
“Red car?” John asked confused. “What...?”  
But he saw it coming, looking over Root's shoulder. And he saw Gregory and Martha intend to cross the street, hand in hand – and he instinctively knew what was about to happen. And he knew there was a certain danger to the situation if they interfered. But the one second he thought about it, Gregory and Martha had put their feet onto the street already. John pulled himself together, pushed Root out of his way and started running before she could. The red car, daring an overtaking maneuver, earned honking noises and screeching tires, but was nevertheless heading straight towards Gregory and Martha who stood now stiff as a poker in the middle of the street, surprised from the noises around them, not recognizing the oncoming danger.  
John yelled and sprinted the last few meters, reached for Gregory who had turned with a baffled look into his direction, knocked him back – and Martha, hand in hand, with him. The red car missed them right in that moment only by centimeters... and drove past them. They were lucky. Although due to his stunt, John had a painful meeting with the hard road surface, he still noticed the plate number. His body hurt a lot but he hid it. Gregory and Martha were more important. They made the couple take a seat on a bench, waiting for the police and John was almost relieved when Fusco showed up, taking over the whole incident. Root had been silent all along and intended to go without a word when everything was over. Something inside told him if he didn't act now, they would stay with this form of communication.  
 _They_ had to talk. John didn't want to leave things like this. Normally, he would have invited her to dinner again, but not this time. Determined, he faced off against her.


	7. A talk in the bar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**
> 
> Thank you both, _ClaudiaRain_ and _Lizzy_.
> 
> Q and A again with our heroes. Enjoy reading (like I did writing)!

_“Relax, John. Have a little faith.”_   
_“You're making a mistake.”_   
_(S03E17)_

Facing her off, he earned nothing more than an annoyed look.  
“Care for a drink?” He asked her, regardless.   
He nearly expected her rejection, but to his joy, Root answered. “ _She_ told me an address. Just a couple of blocks away. Open at this time.”  
He couldn't help but wonder. “ _She_...?”  
It seemed he had the Machine on his side, this time. An ally? He grinned inwardly, walking beside her. Silent. It was around noon and it had started raining.  
They reached the bar and John opened the door for Root. Quite a nice bar it was, actually. A lot of fine woods, mirrors and a long bar counter. It was quiet and sort of intimate. Some jazzy tunes played in the background. A bar for friends and lovers to meet.  
He had preferred to sit at the counter, but she slipped into one of the booths. Alright. He followed.  
“What do you want to talk about?” She asked. Looking around, but not in his eyes.  
“First, I need a beer. What do you want?”  
“Tequila sunrise and a glass of water. And some chips? Had no... breakfast.”  
He nodded, noticing her slight emphasis on the word 'breakfast' but didn't comment, went to the bar and placed their orders.  
Root had some minutes to overthink the situation. Her first reaction had been to say 'no' but then the voice in her ear had given her an address, so Root accepted. _She_ always trusted him. And _secretly_ , she had liked his idea to go for a drink. To spend some time with him. She had missed... his care. And mocking him.  
He returned with the chips and their drinks, including two shots of pure Tequila with salt and twists of lemon.  
Root pointed at the shots. “These are for...?”  
A twitch at the corners of his mouth. “Warm up. Q and A again?”  
For a second, she peered at him. Did she really want this? But Root had never been someone who skipped a bet. “Here we go.” She said and took one of the Tequila shots.  
She didn't wait for him so they could drink together? This would be a difficult task. He sighed. Sometimes he felt so much older than her. But he wanted to try.  
“Are you okay?” He had been quicker than her with the first question. Gentle.   
Her bafflement and suspicion showed immediately. “I'm fine.”  
John just leaned back. Watched her. Took a sip of his beer. Tried to relax, to ease his pain in the ribs from his earlier meeting with the hard road surface.  
“Who's Jessica?”  
He almost spilled his beer. It couldn't be... it couldn't be that _she_ had told her about his former love.  
“Someone close...” He forced himself to answer. “I... lost.”  
“How long ago?”  
“Almost... three and a half years.”  
Observing him, her look changed from hostility to regret. “ _She_... _she_ didn't tell me more. I...”  
“She's dead.” He added, remaining controlled. Truth was, _he_ was still here.  
Root had recognized a certain finality in his tone and fell silent. After all, she wasn't exactly sure what John had in his mind with this kind of game – besides...  
“Why did you cook for me?”  
“Isn't it my turn?”  
“Why did you cook for me?”  
He simply watched her. “You asked for it, remember? Not _my_ first idea.”  
She clarified. “I meant afterwards.”  
“Since we worked together, I only thought it would to be normal... to eat together.” His words came slowly, but deliberately. “I can't believe...” He stopped.  
“What?” She insisted.  
'...that nobody had cooked for you before.' He wanted to continue, but then he considered something else. “You're not a fan of cooking yourself?”  
She might have sensed that he wanted to say something different. However, she had a small smile. “My talents lie somewhere else.”  
“Computers.” He concluded in his matter-of-fact way.  
The first look into his eyes. “Yes.”  
“I heard you were a good hacker.”  
“Were?”  
A flow of a smile over his face. “Are. - Why hacking? You could've been a good 'techie' as well.”  
He earned another look into his eyes. “Turned out... I was better at practical implementation than at theory and design. I learned that early on.”  
John raised his eyebrows. “Never been interested in other professions? Psychology, for example?”  
Root shook only her head, but she couldn't hide another smile.  
“Dark chocolate.”  
He shot her a questioning look.  
“The 'mousse au chocolat' you made.” She explained.  
He realized there was more meaning behind her words than he could grab at the moment so he was looking for clues in her face. Chocolate. Where and when was chocolate involved? - And then it clicked.  
Slowly, he sat up with a reserved smile. “When I started to protect you, I watched over you the whole day. And at the time you took your coffee break, you were at a cafe, nibbling at something I guessed was dark chocolate cheesecake.”  
Root was astonished that he remembered this small incident. She knew he was the best and trained by the military to do so, but with all the numbers he had saved so far – he simply could not have remembered that detail unless it meant something to him. Was it that she meant something to him? Only one question left to find out.  
“Caroline Turing.”  
John had given up on asking his own questions at this point. Raised eyebrows again. He wasn't sure... _what exactly_ she wanted to know. “Your cover?”  
“What were your first thoughts?”  
“That you were good at what you were doing.”  
To his astonishment, she smiled widely. “It was quite obvious that you were... my guardian angel. And when you caught me late in the night at the train station, protecting me...”  
Alright. All questions and answers practically led to their first meeting. This part was not entirely a pleasant topic for him to talk about. Some anger about his foolishness was still left, he realized. He glanced sideways, looking for an answer that would fit... but she had caught his slight change of mood.  
“I made you look like a fool, then.” She admitted.  
His eyes darted back to her. Surprised. No mockery?  
Hesitantly, she continued. “I didn't want to. - All I wanted was to get to... Harold.”  
 _That_ hurt. Not only because it was not in her intention but also the mentioning of Harold's name. And she saw it again before he could slip back into his mask. Since they started working so closely together, he had completely forgotten what Harold had told him about her - that she hacked human beings as easily as computers. Including him, of course.  
Root realized her fault. When had it gotten all so complicated? Would she ever figure out how to talk to him in a way that he wouldn't take wrong?  
“I'm sorry, John. I guess...”  
He shook his head. “Don't.” Was his short answer. He was starting to get tired. The pain in his ribs started to affect him. And quite frankly, he was fed up with his own game. He decided to put his cards on the table.  
“What do you really wanna know, Root? Just ask. I will answer.”   
Eye to eye.  
Her look told him he took her by surprise. But there was a new intensity in her gazing back.  
She leaned forward to him. Searching. Hesitating. Determining.  
“Did you like me? As Caroline?”  
“I already told you.”  
“Answer me.”  
He was caught in his own conditions. Okay.  
“I did.”  
“Why?”  
“You seemed... nice.”  
“That's all?”  
“You were under my protection.”  
“What else?”  
Damn, she wanted to know it all. “I don't know.”  
“You don't? Or you won't tell?”  
“The point... Root?” He leaned forward. “We didn't spend so much time together that I could have done a full proposal – although we were stuck in the Honeymoon Suite.”  
She smiled, unexpectedly, which sent another unexpected spark through him.  
“Besides, the FBI was after me. And HR after you. Remember?” He continued with composure.  
“I do, John. Just keep your shirt on. - Can I ask you another question?”  
“Against the rules again?” He joked half-heartedly.  
“An exception for me?” She came closer.  
“Go on.” He didn't flinch.  
They were back at the same point that they'd gotten stuck in their last Q and A game. Sparks. Tension. Something hovering in the air.  
“Mrs. Clark.”  
“And?” He raised his eyebrows again.  
“You saved me.”  
“That's what one does, in a family.” He replied wryly. “To be there for each other. To care. I'm sure your mother did. In her own way.” More gentle.  
“Leave my mother out of it. You know nothing about her.” The last part was said with a critical undertone. Forgotten were the drinks. But neither of them had moved back.  
“Yes.” He answered calmly. “That's the crux of the matter. You're stuck with me, but you don't really want to let me in, right?”  
If looks could kill, he would be dead. But she stayed silent.  
John kept going, quietly. “You said once to me 'after all we've been through, you really should trust me'. Now that I do, finally, it seems you're the one holding back. Why? All I need is your trust in return. Which includes a little bit of opening up, because that is the way friendships work. Such as with personal conversations?”  
She didn't answer and took instead _his_ shot of Tequila. Her cheeks were colored. “Speaking of personal things. Breakfast.” She hissed.  
Amazed, he raised his eyebrows again. “Yes?”  
“You dragged me under the shower!”  
“You needed it.”  
“I didn't.”  
“You seemed close to collapsing.”  
“I didn't!”  
He sighed. “Look, Root, we can discuss the whole day the whens and ifs but it won't change the facts.”  
“Which are?”  
“You had a hangover like me and seemed out of it. But let me ask you another thing since we're onto personal things. After the shower, you ran away. Care to explain?”  
She averted her eyes. Still colored cheeks. Drinking from her cocktail. Now _that_ was interesting.  
“If I stayed, I would have shot you.” She claimed, finally.  
“What for?”  
“For putting me under hot water?”  
“First: it wasn't hot, it was warm. Second: it kept you from passing out. So will you please stop beating around the bush and tell me the truth? Or should I?”  
She sneered. “You're my oracle. I'm excited.”  
“How about - you didn't want me to touch you – and in any case, carry you. _Too close_.”  
This made her stop playing with the glass. She swallowed. This was a dangerous road to go down.  
“Nonsense.”  
“It didn't have anything to do with the fact that _I_ made us breakfast? Or that we _save_ each other's lives?”  
“ _You_ didn't have to do _any_ of that.” She said. Very defiantly. And with a certain finality.  
How close he was to the truth, she thought to herself. But she would have never let on that he was. No way. No crushing defeat. Not to... John. Although there _was_ a sting because she could see that he pulled back.  
John was more than disappointed. Really, they were restarting the play from the beginning? _He_ had built her a bridge. But perhaps... there was nothing to cross. Maybe it was an illusion. Did he go too far?  
He took the last swigs from his beer bottle and stood. Leaving the money on the table, he went for the exit, leaving a torn Root behind.  
“John. Wait.” Just right before the door, she caught up with him. “I didn't mean it like that...”   
She didn't get any further because he answered shortly: “This game is over, Root. Goodnight.”   
And then he went around her and left.  
He did sense her watching his back, gaze following him, but he didn't turn around. He was at his wit's end. Root or Samantha Groves... he just gave up on understanding her _ever_.


	8. Crossing a bridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N**  
>  Thank you so much, _badlandszay (schadhaft)_ for being the first one who was brave enough and left kudos!

_“You think the Machine is gonna help you dodge bullets?”_  
_“No.”_  
_(S03E17)_

Root had never missed anyone... besides Hanna since her youth. And Harold, to whom she looked upon as a father that she never had, sharing the love and understanding for computers. And Shaw, whose friendship she had come close to cherishing.  
And now _John_... cooking and caring for her. She missed him giving her his fresh shirts and using his clean bathroom. She missed the possibility of going to another place – John's apartment, to be exact. Feeling... yes, speak it out loud, she thought, a little bit at home in these times where everything was out of order. She knew she shouldn't.  
_The Machine_ was the first and primary goal in her life. Nothing else.  
Funny that Harold's words some time ago just came to her mind, back when they had spoken about _her_. That he would love to do the same for her, Root, that he did for _the Machine_ : to teach her that people mattered. She had answered him that she did care about people, especially about the ones she now missed the most. She had named John 'helper monkey' then, but she knew better by _now_. Although she had helped him save a good number of names, in truth _he_ had helped her to start caring for her life again.  
Discover the joy of good food shared with someone. Discover the joy of talking to someone who was interested. And knew where she came from, how she did things. Discover that not only _the Machine_ cared for her, but he did, too - irrelevant of who she was before. Discover that she had earned trust from someone who didn't trust easily. Discover that she wasn't alone anymore in the world and had a destination - although she had liked it for some time, being someone untouchable.  
Like she had felt that one night - earlier in their work, together with John at her side in his bed. First she was almost terrified to find herself beside him, but she had obviously slept so deeply – feeling safe and sound – that she hadn't realized him crawling into bed and sleeping next to her.  
Root had never ever met a man before who was so full of caring and love like John. And he was able to get through to her, slowly.  
A sort of wishfulness took over in her that she wasn't used to feeling. A wish to see John again, to cross the bridge he had offered her in full trust - and she was so tempted to take it, just to bathe again in his absolute care and surrender.  
But so far... she'd gone against her own wish. Afraid? Acting on old habits? Self-distrust?

“No, I won't.” Root answered every time _the Machine_ told her to go after John. She knew that he had managed three irrelevant names now successfully, and it kind of irritated her that _she_ just didn't stop.  
“Look, I've got no time...” - Root started to argue again, but finally gave up. Maybe just checking in on him, teasing him a little bit... and then she could go. The voice had gone quiet.  
She sighed. “Alright, where is he?”

Full of mixed emotions she stood there, near the entrance of the stylish bar, behind a crowd who was smoking outside. Watching him inside. He hadn't detected her, busy with watching his new name, Ms. Brown. A nice looking woman about his age, a little bit similar to Zoe Morgan. Who had shared his bed, as she had heard from Shaw at one point.  
John had told her he had loved two women. One of them had obviously been 'Jessica'. She would have loved to hear more about her. And the other? It would have been a question for their next Q and A game, but there wasn't one anymore. John had sounded very determined when he had left her at the bar. They hadn't even talked about that kiss she had given him...  
How would it feel to kiss him again? Like she had before... the little devil in her had wanted revenge, and it had been fun to take him by surprise. But another part of her also had _wanted_ to know how John kissed. No surprise there, John was a good kisser and she had felt... that he was tempted. He hadn't known how tempted she was, too.  
Finally she caught a better glimpse at him through the window. She saw that beneath his handsomeness, he looked tired and exhausted. Was she his backup tonight again?

*

Three names alone in one week. Three saved. No Root in sight, although John would have liked to do the saving with her. His exhaustion and sleep deprivation had returned. He should have known that when he needed her the most, she wouldn't be there. But he suspected it was his own fault. Which made it worse.  
When he had woken up around noon today for another name, the fourth this week, desperation slowly crept in. John was used to sleep deprivation, but it was harder for him when he had some kind of emotional involvement. Confusion, anger and craving when it came to Root were his constant companions recently.  
After a shower and brunch he had left his apartment, calling Fusco to get to know where his name lived and what she – a Ms. Brown – did.  
The rest of the day was spent on rooftops, watching Ms. Brown first at work in a boutique - she sold clothes, and she did it pretty well - and later in her apartment, feeding the cat and eating. Since this was his free day of a week, he had the time to follow her afterwards to a stylish bar where she met her friends.  
He had sat down on a barstool, exits in his view, not far away from Ms. Brown, and ordered a beer - as always wondering what kind of danger awaited someone like her.  
Ms. Brown and her three girlfriends seemed to amuse themselves while drinking some cocktails. He had noticed the looks he got from their table, although that wasn't his intention. To be honest, he just wanted to be left in peace. Especially after this week. He didn't need any more distractions... than he already had. A feeling told him to leave the bar, watch his new name better from the outside, when he saw movement from their table towards him. Time to go.  
He just got to the door when he realized that Ms. Brown herself had followed him. Just what he needed! Normally he would have welcomed her interest to figure out the danger she was in much faster but today he wasn't in the mood to pretend. He was content with protecting her from some distance. Outside, it had started to rain.  
“Hey gorgeous. Wanna join us?”  
He smiled shortly and shook his head. “Gotta go, sorry.”  
She put a hand on his arm.“I'll let you buy me a drink...”  
“No thanks. Nothing personal.” He said and turned to the door. After he left, Ms. Brown returned inside and went back to the table with her girlfriends.  
He sighed, relieved. Turned his coat collar up. The rainy air was fresh, but cool. And he was weary.  
Another voice made him suddenly spin.  
“She's a big fan of you.” Sneering.  
“And what are you doing here, Root?” He asked as calmly as he could.  
“She thought you needed help. But I think you are doing fine without me.” Mocking him.  
He almost got angry. Did he deserve her mockery?  
“I didn't invite you here, Root.” He simply said. That kept her quiet for a moment.  
“No, you didn't.” She answered after a while.  
He was genuinely surprised. Some little epiphany Root had, then?  
She stood there, indecisive, obviously. “I'll go now.” Turned away with averted eyes.  
He wasn't sure, but her voice had sounded almost sad.  
With two long steps, he was with her. Took her by her wrist. Swirled her around, against him. The rain grew heavier, made them both wet.  
Root stared him in the eyes. Like he did. Looking for an answer. _Crossing a bridge._  
The door of the bar opened again. Some jazz music was heard, like in that bar where they had their last talk. Or their last game?  
He dragged them both further in the shadows. Took a risk.  
“I have not forgotten how surprisingly good it felt when you kissed me. Have you?” He rasped. And waited.  
There was a slight hesitation, but then she kissed him again. Without restraint, this time.  
They kissed in such a way that she was simply overwhelmed by the waves of feelings that ran through her. John was so gentle, she was outright thrown. It would be better the fast, hard way. At least that was what she knew – and liked, before him. Then she could turn around and go _afterwards_. But a kiss like this made her feel vulnerable... made her want to stay not only for _one night_... if these kisses were just the beginning.  
He had pulled her close, hungry for bodily contact and Root realized how turned on they both were. Was she beginning to fall for _him_? She really had to pay attention.  
The revelation shocked her so she broke the overwhelming kiss. She simply wasn't ready... for all this. So she ran away. Damn him! But her inner voice told her that taking the first step had taken some courage. John had it. And _he_ was worth it. _And the Machine always trusted him._

*

Root left John behind, stunned. She was gone without explanation, had only a confused look on her which made him feel almost guilty... but he had no time for more concern because Ms. Brown walked by. Alone. A little drunk. Going home? Wasn't this the wrong direction? He followed her silently, some meters behind.  
Just around two corners, at the entrance of a darker alley, Ms. Brown stopped, rummaging through her bag.  
John made a quick side step to the building's wall and leaned his head against it. He still felt Root's lips on his. The touch of their bodies. Why did she run?  
A low gasp made him look for Ms. Brown again. A man with his friends stood in front of her, and John heard their voices.  
“Bob.” Ms. Brown whispered, filled with fear. “What are you doing here?”  
“Looking for my girlfriend, hitting on other men when she has me.” And the man dragged her into the darker alley. John ran.

*

On the way to her hotel room for that night, Root ignored for the umpteenth time the voice in her ear which had immediately started after she left John. No, she would not return to him. No way. That kiss should have never happened. What was she thinking? Kissing him? She could smack herself. Determined, she continued on her way. This was the last time she would follow _her_ orders concerning him. But a nagging doubt stayed, wondering if she was doing the right thing.

*

John rushed headlong into the dangerous situation. Still thinking of that wonderful kiss, reciprocated – only later would he realize he hadn't been paying enough attention. Having the surprise on his side, he succeeded in saving Ms Brown, who just stood stiffly against the wall, out of the reach of her boyfriend Bob. In seconds, he grabbed and shoved her in the direction of the street and advised her to call for help. He blocked the exit from the others so she could run. But he knew he was simply outnumbered. Five to one. Damn. No weapon. Nothing except his fists to fight with. And being so tired, exhausted and more confused than ever. No worse way to be prepared for a fight... so he didn't wait for the attack, he attacked. One down. Four left.  
In the end he knew it had been pointless. When he went down, still fighting, there was nothing else he could do other than to protect his head. Another kick in his ribs made him groan quietly. He thought he heard a taser and a voice that he knew by heart - before his head was hit by something hard and he was knocked out. But Kara's words were instilled in him: Emotions will kill you. And Kara was right: thinking of Root had almost cost him his life.  
Blackness took over.

“John. John!” The voice that he knew by heart brought him back. He opened his eyes. Pain went through his whole body.  
“Are you okay?” Root was bending over him and he could recognize the worry in her look.  
Cautiously, he sat up. The world was spinning again. Nausea hit him hard and all he could do was turn around when the sudden vomiting started.  
Root's tender hands held him back. Not only for not tipping over forwards but for holding on to consciousness, too.  
When the vomiting stopped, he just rested there for a minute. Closing his eyes, willing his battered body to move forward.  
“John we have to go. Police will be here any minute. And I don't know if Lionel is with them or not.” Root sounded very agitated. She pulled him up, not without some force. He tried to follow her, but was hesitant because of the pain. Everything hurt. But finally, he stood. At least on his own legs. From the corner of his eyes, he noticed five men around him, unconscious. Root had been successful with the last two, then.  
“Come on. I'll bring you home.” She whispered to him, pulling him gently forward. She had put his arm over her shoulders and dragged him right into the next cab that stopped along the street, quickly organized by _her_. The rest of the drive was lost to him. Sweat glistened on his face and it took everything for him to stay conscious.  
When they reached his apartment, John was more than glad to be there. His chest and his head hurt like hell. And his shirt was stained with blood, he could feel it. Not to mention the rest of his body.  
Root went straight to the first aid kit and he supposed _she_ had told her where to look for it. Slowly he took his jacket off, steadying himself at the wall, just wanting to say goodbye to Root to have a look at the damage by himself and take some painkillers, when she hurried back.  
“Let me help you with this bloody shirt.” She said.  
“I am capable...” John began, but didn't get further.  
Root had already a pair of scissors in her hand and started to cut his white shirt cautiously in fragments. He let her do it, still feeling close to passing out. But Root didn't seem to notice, only eager to assist him.  
He suppressed a groan when the shirt was finally removed. And had to clench his teeth when she touched his cracked ribs.  
“No need to fuss over it.” He rasped, grimacing.  
“Will you let me help you, John?” She took the bandages and made him sit. Since John was in some agony he stopped trying to fend her off. Truth was, after all this evening had put him through, he wasn't very comfortable with her getting so close again. She had run away, leaving him behind. What else could it mean except that she had no interest in continuing whatever this was? And now she saved his life again? Only because _the Machine_ told her to? - He wasn't in the condition to analyze everything exactly, so he tried to stay patient and closed his eyes, nevertheless enjoying her tender hands way more than he probably should. Her _warm_ hands on his cold skin. It could have been heaven if she only allowed it, too. He had to strangle himself for not moaning although it hurt like hell. He just needed to reach out his hand and he would touch her hair. How would it feel under his fingertips? As silky and fine as he imagined?  
John, he admonished himself, you wouldn't earn anything besides her mockery. He had to stop that.  
“Thanks.” He simply said, still in pain. “I'll take it from here.” And he put the bandages slowly on himself.  
She just shook her head, eyed him. Tried to hide her worries under her sneering tone. “Always this stubborn? What exactly does Harold like in you?”  
Again that mocking tone when all he needed was comfort. He was lying to himself that they would get along. They simply wouldn't. Different expectations. Different point of view.  
He just ignored her and stood slowly, gone was his weak moment. Why did he even consider a direction they might never take?  
This kiss under the rain was surely another part of her game and he should put it aside. Once and for all.  
Since his head was spinning again, he staggered back to the kitchen, getting more bandages because he felt the blood seeping through those he'd already put on.  
No way he would let her touch him again.  
Of course, she was coming after him. Did she not understand that he only wanted to have his peace back? To be left alone?  
“See, I don't need your help anymore. You can go.” He tried to sound as friendly as he could, hanging on to the table in the kitchen.  
“You need looking after.” Root sounded sincere.  
“I will get some sleep, I promise.” He meant it.  
“I can watch over you, prepare some food...” She forbid herself from begging him.  
“Just need some time by myself.” He said shortly.  
But Root ignored the hint.  
“Let me...” She didn't get any further.  
“Get out.”  
“I... ” Root felt the anger in her rise.  
“Just leave me alone, Root. You know, I managed four names on my own. I can do the rest by myself, too.” He took his frustration out on her.  
“Still thinking that you can manage the next names by yourself, right? Would it be too much to ask for _my_ help?” She retorted with a lot of anger, concealing her guilt at not being there to help him. “Well, good news for you, John, you won't get another name until _I_ allow it.”  
“You're threatening me?” John asked her and it nearly made him laugh. “You?”  
“No names for a week until you're better, that's a promise! - Otherwise you'll get yourself killed.”  
John was too tired for a fight. All he wanted was to drop into his bed and give into blackness again.  
“Whatever.” He said low, exhausted. “Just leave.”  
The sudden change in his demeanor left Root completely unsettled for a moment.  
“I... I really want to...” She didn't know how to continue. She wanted to be here, with him, so badly. But she hadn't the courage to speak it out loud.  
“I don't.” He was cruel to her, he could see. Ironically it satisfied him that he seemed to break her out of her cocoon, in the end. Her reaction proved she was less than happy about it.  
“Not the faithful _watchdog_ anymore, huh?” She said very acridly. “Thought you were in need of my help.”  
“Not yours anymore, wildcard.” He replied sharply all of a sudden. It made him slightly furious that she called him 'watchdog' again.  
Root fell silent with wide eyes, and John realized that something might have slipped him he hadn't wanted to reveal.  
“I am a _wildcard_? - That's it, isn't it? You will never trust in me one hundred percent.” She accused, hurt at his obvious and final dismissal. “I guess I will never understand why she puts so much faith and trust in you...” With the last bitterly spoken remark, Root had turned around and was gone.  
He just let her go, glad that she finally left his apartment. Glad... was he really?  
His head was still spinning. His chest still hurt. As did his pride and his feelings.


	9. Consequences and a dance or a dance with consequences?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N**  
>  Thank you again and again, _ClaudiaRain_. What would I do without your help and your suggestions?  
>  And _Lizzy_. Always there.
> 
> And a special thank you, _Theatre_Phoenix_ , for your wonderful and inspiring comment. This next chapter is for you!

_"We should be okay until our next stop."_   
_"Terrific. More errands to run."_   
_(S03E22)_

The next day he woke up in the afternoon. He had returned to his bed after Root was gone and simply passed out. Blackness hadn't taken long. There was dried blood on his bed but he didn't care. First he showered very cautiously and bandaged himself again after it. Took some painkillers.  
John was first thinking about calling in sick, at least for one night, but if he were honest with himself, not going to work was making it much worse. Too much time to give the situation some thought.  
He pushed himself to work. Gregory was on another shift, so he worked with his supervisor. The older man had seen at once the state he was in and queried only: “How bad?”  
John's smile was constrained, so the supervisor told him to sit down and did every patrol by himself.   
John was very grateful for not answering any more questions and watched the monitors, trying not to think about the last few days, too bewildered for clear thoughts. Being this tired... and hurt cost him his last will to keep going. He had to pull himself out of his misery. Step by step.  
When Gregory suddenly sneaked in, he put something into John's hands.   
“Hi.” He said joyfully and leaned against the wall. It took John some seconds to realize that Gregory was waiting for him to open the envelope, so he did. It was an official invitation for a party the next Saturday evening.  
“Since Martha and I are getting back together, we're bringing our families together next weekend.” Gregory explained. “First we'll have a buffet and of course there will be dancing.” He blinked, smiling. “Samantha and you can come, right? - I asked our supervisor to give you an extra free day.”  
John cleared his throat. “Thank you for the invitation, but I'm not sure...”  
“You are not really declining our little invitation, John? I mean, after all, we want to thank you for bringing us together again. And saving our lives.” Gregory insisted vehemently.  
John didn't know what else to say and fell silent for a short moment. “It's complicated, Gregory.”  
Gregory looked at him and raised his eyebrows. “Concerning Samantha and you, you mean?”  
John tried to escape in excuses.”We had something like a fight...” It wasn't a lie. “I'm sorry.” He truly hoped to prevent a discussion from going astray.  
But Gregory watched him closely, saw a little desperation and hurt shimmer through John and decided to say something more.  
“Look, you two seemed to be so close.” He said. “Martha and me, we were, too, until this thing with my debts happened. Taught me a hard lesson, but thankfully, she wants to stick with me. And of course there's Tessa, our little girl.” He made a slight pause. “Anyway, what I wanted to say is: your Samantha – besides being beautiful – kissed you in a way not many men are kissed by their girlfriends. So openly. I've seen it.”  
John was smiling mildly, thinking how good it was that Gregory didn't know about Root's different kind of ways to play with him. - Nevertheless enjoying it, too. He had felt that she had kissed him... with fun and some kind of passion, too. The passion you have for the thing you can toy with. But he should remain realistic. She just... didn't feel the way he did. No fault from her side. He just had taken her games too seriously. End of it.  
“Don't you think you can get her back? Clear things up between you? Tell her you love her?” Gregory continued. “It's amazing how many women just wait for their guys to tell them _that_ to be in the whole relationship thing completely.” He shrugged his shoulders.  
“I'll try...“ John answered him flatly. “Thank you for stopping by.” He had a small smile. “Work's waiting.”  
“Of course. Let me know if you're both coming or... you alone.” Gregory smiled back and left.  
John was relieved that Gregory had gone. He was really looking forward to when his phone would buzz again to save the next name. His mind definitely needed other things to engage in. Root had made something like a promise to him that after a week, she would pass the names on to him. Root. Root. Root.   
In a kind of desperate move, he turned away from the monitors and allowed himself to lean his forehead against the dark window to cool his inner turmoil a little bit. When was the last time it had hit him that badly? Jessica.  
And how long did it take him to... accept it?  
Maybe this was also the legacy of Kara. Toying with him was her specialty... and he kind of had started to accept it as a dark part of him enjoyed being toyed with. Maybe that was, after all, what had made him fall for Root?  
Or was it the fact that he was allowed to care for her? To build a connection to her they never had before? To talk to her... and let her pull him into her games. And to discover there indeed was a power of attraction between them. One which he had indulged in... and she had not.   
Throwing her out of his apartment was an overreaction on his part, so the chances of seeing her again and having the possibility of regaining a balance between them were close to zero.  
With difficulty, he took a step back from the window and forced himself to concentrate on his job again. And tried to stick with it the whole night.  
When he made it home, he fell into his bed. Food and painkillers had to wait until after he slept.  
That was the routine he kept for the next five days. Slowly, he felt better, did not hurt with every breath he took. Then his supervisor told him he had the whole weekend free, including Gregory's party.

*

The first early morning John came home, he was so exhausted that he didn't even notice the figure who stalked him when he left the company. But the figure noticed his slow walk, his pale face and the pain – because of his stops on the way home – that he seemed to be in.  
Since he had been beaten up and Root had come to his aide, she was stalking his apartment every day. And she had done it on her terms. No need for _the Machine_ to tell her that.  
She was worrying a lot. And becoming angry that John didn't allow her to care for him when he needed it the most. Angry at herself. Guilty. Confused. All of it. She berated herself for her mistakes.  
She hadn't gone to him when _she_ had told her once, twice, three times... to go help him. Just thought, in her own pride, that he could do it alone. She was wrong. Oh so wrong.  
In the end, Root had let John down when _he_ was counting on her. He, the one of the team who was the most wary, doubtful person when it came to her helping them. Instead of being proud and grateful that she won his trust – she betrayed it the first time he _really_ needed her help. Only because she thought she could play with him like she had always done in her life - until Harold and _she_ entered it and taught her some lessons in caring she just seemed to have forgotten after Hanna disappeared.  
He had that kind of honesty she was never good at – Root preferred the games instead – and he had instilled in her some part of his belief that people _can_ change, something she could never define for herself.   
Somehow they had found a way to work together – and she had simply taken it for granted. She was always like a _chameleon_ , forced to adapt to the surroundings, and she could disappear as fast as she arrived. John was the first constant in her life beside _the Machine_ to offer her the safety of _staying in one personality and identity_ , allowed her to be herself instead of someone she made up entirely.   
She was so used to adapting different personas – first for her original goal to revenge Hanna, afterwards because it turned out she was pretty good at it. John had almost grounded her a little bit in giving her a home she could turn to no matter who she was pretending to be, because in his eyes she was always just Root.   
Now, she'd had the chance to give some of the care back that he had given her all these weeks and it frustrated her immensely that she couldn't. Also she could have told him... could have showed him... her feelings?  
As always, too late, she realized the chance that was given to her and she finally decided to give in. The nagging question was, would John give her another chance if she asked for it?

*

It was still dark outside, dawn was just setting in, and Root watched John leave work earlier than usual. Informed by _her_ , Root had left her hotel room earlier, too.  
She followed him as usual and saw that he was better today, with no pauses on his way home. And he wasn't that pale anymore. When the week was over, she knew that _she_ would pass the next names onto him. No chance for her to protect him anymore like she did now.  
He entered his apartment building, and she stood there on the corner, waiting. Waiting for her intuition to tell her that he was safe and for his lights to go on. She would leave, at least until evening, when he left for work. Then she would be here again.  
She didn't notice the figure behind her until John's whisper in her ear made her spin around, taken by surprise. “No running this time?”  
Root just stared at him. Why hadn't _the Machine_ warned her? Maybe because in this _she_ was on _his_ side?  
She had another quick snappy remark on her tongue, but this time, she held back.   
“I don't know.” She answered instead.   
Watching her, he asked frankly: “What are you doing here, Root? In the mornings? Or in the evenings, for that matter?” He had obviously found out about her stalking.  
“I wanted to talk to you and avoid... how the last time ended.” Was her low answer, with averted eyes.  
“Why?” John wondered. ” _You_ decided to take off, remember?”  
Root wasn't prepared for direct questions at all and reacted defensively. “You made me, remember?”  
“ _I_ made you?” He only shook his head. “You've faced things straight on before, why not now?”  
She hesitated. “Maybe things changed.”  
“From whose perspective? Yours or mine?”  
She looked at him. “Maybe I still don't know what to make of you.”  
“I thought you formed your opinion long ago.” He answered dryly.  
“I thought I did.” She said, still looking at him. A pause. “How are you?” Hesitantly, again.  
“I'm...” He wanted to say automatically 'fine', but watching her, he answered instead: “... alright.”  
“You are?”  
She really wanted to be sure? He nodded at her.  
“Your ribs?”  
He was more than astonished at her concern... and back in the middle of his bewilderment and feelings for her.   
“Are you just here to ask me after my health?” He said, calmly.  
“No.” Her answer was quick. She tilted her head. “No, I came to tell you...” She fought with herself, he could see it.  
“Tell me what.” He was gentle.  
“I'm sorry, John.” Root still struggled with herself. “I... I... worried about you.” She had wanted to say something by default but somehow the words changed to personal ones.  
“I'm still here, Root.” Softly. Waiting.  
“Yes. You are.” Her answer was guilt-ridden.  
John wasn't exactly sure what she came for. But that she came meant something. Could they continue as friends, after all? He decided to take the first step, again.  
“What about breakfast, Root?” He offered. “I'm hungry and in need of coffee. - Wanna come up? We can resume talking there.”  
Relieved, she gave him a small smile. “Coffee sounds wonderful, John.”  
When she followed him into his apartment, he was inwardly shaking his head at himself. But in the last few days, he had finally understood that not only being the older one but the wiser one, it was on him to reach out to her. Like he just did.  
And like so many times before, he made her sit at his table in the kitchen, added another plate and mug for her and poured the freshly brewed coffee in.  
“Smells good.” Root said, now almost ashamed of taking his care for granted.  
He pushed the milk and the sugar to her, and put two slices of bread on her plate.  
“I have blueberry and fig marmalade here.”  
“Thank you.” Root just said, nipping on her coffee. Trying to collect some courage to continue on, figure out what to say... at least a part of it. Being too unsure.  
Since she made no effort in making herself something to eat, he decided to do it for her.  
When she realized he had prepared a slice of bread with jam for her, she giggled. “The last time someone made that for me... was my mum, when I was eight.” With one simple doing, John had made her feel at home again, telling him personal things, almost naturally. Root shook herself mentally.  
“When I was eight, I put a family's Oldsmobile through the side of our neighbor's house.” John commented, dryly. “My father wasn't very pleased as you can imagine.”  
He had Root's complete attention. “Your father?”  
“Lost him when I was pretty young.” John concluded, nipping on his coffee, too. He gazed at her. “Younger than you when you lost your mother.”  
Another similarity. Root swallowed. “Mum had to work a lot. To earn our keep. I wish...” She left things open, looking at the floor and then the living room where light shone in, having another memory.  
“Don't we all.” John said softly. But continued. “What brought you here, Root?”  
“You cared for me the whole time, John, whether I needed it or not. I simply wanted to give something in return.” Root answered slowly, a little bit upset. “And I was angry at you for not letting me.”  
He said nothing for a while, still trying to figure her out. “Look Root, can we just pick up where we left off? - I need your help, I do see the point you made in our last discussion. And I miss... saving names _together_ with you.”  
Root looked him in the eyes, swallowed again. “I let you down, John, I know. Won't happen again.”  
She took the last sip of her coffee and went suddenly silent.  
John watched her and knew what this special look on her face meant. “What does _she_ say?” He simply asked.  
“ _She_ just got another errand for me to run.” She sighed. Wanted to stay there.  
“Thank you for the coffee... and everything else.” She was almost out the door when she heard his “Wait!”  
There he stood, in the middle of the room.  
“Gregory and Martha invited us tonight for their reunion party, to thank us for... bringing them together again and saving their lives. - Will you come along with me?”  
Root hesitated a moment, surprised, but smiled and nodded. “I'll come. Dressed to the nines?”  
John nodded, too. “8 pm, Hudson Street...”  
Root interrupted him cheerfully. “I know, John. No place I'd rather be. Need to go.”   
And she vanished, leaving him wondering.   
His mind and his heart were doing flips, but he tried to stop it. Slowly, John. We'll wait and see. But he couldn't suppress a happy grin when he climbed into his bed, falling into sleep.  
The nervousness came later, when he was dressing. He didn't know where they were heading... back towards friendship? Or perhaps... something more? Well, he would figure it out. 

*

John waited for Root to show up in front of the entrance of the party hall. As she left one of the taxis, he couldn't help but stare. She wore a short dress, the skirt in simple black, the top woven with gold glitter, tight to her lean curves. The top was strapped only around one of her shoulders, the other bare. Her hair was lifted up in a beautiful way. With heels, her head reached his shoulders.  
 _This_ would be an evening to remember.  
She smiled upon noticing him. “See? Told you I'd be here.”  
He simply smiled back at her and held his arm out, which she took. Careful to not show anything from his inner turmoil. “You look stunning.”  
The big hall was full of people and extremely loud because of the live music and the talking when they entered. Gregory and Martha seemed to have a big family party.  
John and Root, both a little surprised at the amount of guests took a place at the end of the hall at one of the many tables around the dance floor and simply watched the guests. Like an old habit, John had the exits in his view, and fortunately, they were sitting in the quieter part of the hall. It looked like a normal party: people were meeting and chatting, the kids already dancing and running around.  
A waiter appeared, automatically serving two glasses of champagne and asked for their drink orders, so John ordered beer and water.  
A few minutes later Gregory climbed the stage and took a microphone, Martha behind him. He took her hand and gave a short speech about their plans of marrying again and how grateful they were that they were given another chance and he thanked openly John and Samantha for saving their lives.  
At the end, Gregory asked all to stand up and toast with Martha and him, so the whole hall did, as did John and Root – clinking their glasses.  
Shortly, John was reminded of his first meeting with Kara in Prague. He hadn't touched either the champagne or the Bourbon... Why was he thinking of Kara? Because of the champagne she had liked a lot? Because some part of him feared to be toyed again by Root?  
Her voice brought him back. “John.”  
He just turned to her, looking way too serious.   
Her gentle tug at his hand and a quick check around made him aware that Gregory had finished his toast. He sat down, too. “Sorry.” He rasped to Root and pressed her hand shortly before leaving it.  
The band had started to play a waltz, and Gregory and Martha were dancing, alone.  
Root watched John closely. He was still miles away. A little bit like in one of their Q and A games, when she had inquired about his family. Sometime, she had to ask him again what he had meant with his cryptic words. But not now. This evening... she simply wanted to stay at his side. Show him that he could count on her. Enjoy his company. And pull him in... for another kiss?  
After the waltz, the large buffet was opened and it was time to eat. Root leaned forward to John. “What do you like? I'll go.”  
A short twitch at the corners of his mouth. “Choose whatever you like... Samantha.”  
It wasn't the answer she had wanted to hear, but it was a beginning. Maybe she had to order more alcohol for them to loosen their tension a little bit?  
She brought a plate for him with her, and he thanked her. They ate together in silence, like they had always done in his apartment.  
John was still more silent than he wanted to be. But he didn't know what to say. He didn't know what else to do other than wait for a chance to show her how much he cared. In a friendly way, not to scare her away again.  
At last, the band started to play a slow piece of music and the noise level went down.  
Gregory came to their table, clearly looking for Root.  
He turned to John, who knew instinctively what he was about to ask.  
“Do you mind if I dance with Samantha?”  
Normally John would have said 'No.' but _this_ was the chance that he wanted to take himself.  
He stood, smiling. “Actually, I do. Sorry.”  
And with his heart pounding, he turned to Root, holding his hand out to her. “Samantha?”  
She looked up at him. _Only_ at him. And smiled back.   
He asked her to dance with him? Was this her chance in the end that she had waited the whole evening for? She followed him to the dance floor.  
Putting her hand in his, like she had done when she was Caroline Turing and he thought himself to be her savior... he had liked holding her small beautiful hand, so trustfully slipped in his... and he should've known better, back then.  
John took Root carefully in his arms and started swaying. Concentrating on the music... feeling too much when she closed the distance between them and laid her head on his shoulder.  
Slowly, his fingers curled around her hand and put it on his chest. He closed his eyes, enjoyed the sparks that went through him. Something he hadn't felt... in a long time.  
At this moment he didn't want to resist his feelings, instead he wanted to hold on to them. Feelings he had lost... after Jess. And after Joss. Feelings that made him alive again. Determined, he pulled her closer.   
How he longed to give in... knowing full well it couldn't be. This was a fire, burning... and having the power to destroy him. For once and for all. John had never ever been a coward, but this... this was a dangerous road. And he wasn't sure of his survival if he went down it. He'd just had a foretaste of it and it had nearly cost his life.  
He felt her hand wander down to his firm ass, resting there. Sparks again. Did she feel it, too? At last? That there was something between them which matched? Slowly, his hand on her back glided down as well, pressed her lean, curved body into him, fitting so perfectly. His heart nearly skipped a beat when he felt her pressure, too. Heard her quiet groan.  
He smiled in realizing they were _both_ turned on – again.  
And when Root looked up, _he_ couldn't resist kissing her. Gentle, tender at first. Experimenting. Like the last time under the rain when he just wanted to persuade her to stay with him. He got every response he was hoping for... and more. Soon they kissed with passion, touched the tips of their tongues. Still pressed together in a way that couldn't be misunderstood. _Wanting_.   
Every time he showed her that he cared, Root was turned on. Like a lightning in the storm.  
When the music ended and the applause started, Root whispered in his ear: “Do you trust me, John?”  
She got an inquiring look, but finally he tilted his head. “I still do.” He said gently.  
“Take us home to your apartment.” She told him almost breathless. “Give me your love.”  
His doubt was clearly visible. “Are you certain?” Were his only words. Serious.  
“Yes.” She leaned her head against his. “Let me show you.”  
“No more games?” He simply asked.  
“No more games.” Root acknowledged, repeating his words.  
Finally, she had the courage to take his hand and to look him in the eyes.   
He said nothing, still contemplating her words.  
“Let's go.” She insisted.  
So they said goodbye to Gregory and Martha, but both of them were smiling when they saw John and Root holding hands.  
They took a cab, stayed silent during the drive and when he took her up the stairs to his apartment, Root was overwhelmed to find how much she longed for this, too. She wanted to be closer to him than _ever before_. Through loving him she wanted to show him just _how much_ she cared.


	10. Soft and hard spots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N**  
>  For _ClaudiaRain_ , who guided me through the whole story. Never gave up on me.  
> And for _Lizzy_ , who believed in me.  
> And for all the comments which made me happy!

_“Always knew you had a soft spot for me.” - Root to John_   
_(S05E01)_

When he took her up the stairs to his apartment, John wasn't still one hundred percent sure how... to take this. How to take her. But he wanted. Oh damn he wanted.  
They didn't get far. Once his apartment door was closed he pulled her into his embrace again and kissed her. Starting to undress her in finding the zipper of her dress, hungry for her skin on his skin. Root met him, pulling his jacket off of him, tugging at his shirt. And when he felt her hands on his hips to open the belt of his trousers and the buttons of his fly, he couldn't suppress a loud moan. It felt too good to be true, and he was so turned on that it took all his willpower to prevent him from coming right there in his boxers when she slipped a hand in and touched his length with her bare fingertips. To distract himself, he took her hand away with one hand and opened her bra with his other one. Pulling her slip down after it. Root had to giggle when she nearly stumbled over her dress and her slip fell down around her ankles, but got caught by John.  
“Let me.” He rasped and helped her, kneeling before her. When he was ready, his feasting look wandered over her lean curved body up to her face.  
“I never... realized how beautiful you are.” He said, almost breathless.  
“Look at yourself.” Root answered softly, touching his still bandaged chest when he came up to her. “How much does it hurt?” She asked.  
“I forget when you're touching me.” John moaned loudly again when she let her hands slide deeper, pulling his boxers down. He didn't stop her this time and leaned down to her. Couldn't hold back. Made a decision. Kissed her more hungrily.  
He captured her wrists, tugged them tightly behind her back, moved them against the wall. Root was pressed close to him, so close she could feel... everything. She was surprised by his sudden initiative, but a wanting flared in her that sought satisfaction – only _he_ could give. Passion took over. She felt his erection first against her thighs, then _sliding_ against her. Felt the tip of him part her, but not taking her. Feelings overwhelmed her that were almost painful in their intensity. Their tongues were tangling. Their breath mingling. The kisses he gave her were hot, burning. Root moaned, head back on the wall. “Take me.”   
“Not yet.” John rasped although he felt as if he would burst, hard with desire. But he just wanted to keep her waiting a little bit longer, extending the yearning. He trailed kisses and bites down her neck when she whispered in his ear: “John, please.”   
Hearing the pleading in her voice, he looked in her eyes, understood, let go of her wrists and gathered her legs up. She wrapped them around his waist and sank onto him. He almost lost his balance upon their union, taking his breath away. He had never expected it to be intense... like this. He felt high and could tell from her wetness that she did, too. Their thrusts met, grew wild, erratic, faster, till they adapted to the same rhythm. John sensed Root tightening around his sensitive length, being close to the brink and kissed her again, made her moan into his mouth when she climaxed. And having felt her pleasure, he let go, too.

After some minutes John gathered Root in his arms and carried her to his bed. When he set her down, she pulled at him and he fell beside her, sweating and catching his breath. For a long time, neither Root nor John said a word.  
“Should've known _you_ would kill me.” He finally murmured very low, but she heard it.  
His confession made her smile.   
“I never thought I could wake your feelings in such a way, John.” She whispered back, amused. She crawled onto his side and put her head on his shoulder, watching his face.  
John felt her warmth, the contact of her naked skin on his naked skin, and it gave him a feeling of some light back in his dark life. He realized he couldn't have resisted her even if he had tried.  
Her voice had a teasing touch. “Guess I have to take the initiative now?”  
Now John turned his head to her, smirking. “I thought more about seducing you. Slowly. Guess you're not that type?”  
A little hurt, she sent him a reproachful look. “I could be.”  
His smile didn't change when he turned to the side, resting on his elbows, and pulled her in for another kiss. “Patience, my wildcard.”  
“You're calling me _wildcard_ again?” Root wasn't sure if she liked that, having their last argument vividly in mind.  
John grinned. “I thought you wouldn't like babe, pet, or boo?”  
Root boxed him in his arms and fought playfully with him for a moment, but as his mouth brought her nipples to hard, aching peaks, kissed her belly and wandered down her body finding her sensitive spot, she fell back on the sheets. “I give up.” She moaned.  
“You better.” John responded and wanted to focus on her only, when he had competition in the form of Root's hand and fingers. “Let me.” She murmured breathless, taking his hand – and she satisfied herself with it in front of him. John was fascinated at how relaxed she was... in his presence. And he was quite turned on.   
“Seen enough?” She asked in her afterglow, looking at him.  
Slightly, he shook his head and smiled. “You made me climax just by watching you.”  
“John.” She laughed. “I never met anyone like you before.”  
“That good or not?” He asked and rested on his elbow again, an intense look at her.  
“I knew you were a gentleman, John, when I was Caroline Turing.” She admitted low. “Remember? The way you gave me the dark chocolate, the way you put your jacket over my shoulders and the way you hold my hand while running away from HR or the FBI...” She tilted her head. “Can you forgive me for hurting you?”  
He shook his head again. “Leave it. At least for tonight, wildcard. We're here now.” Softly.  
“Does this mean I am forgiven?” she asked.  
“As much as I would love to be Jesus,” the corner of John's mouth twitched, “Just what exactly is there to be forgiven?”  
Root looked him straight in the eyes.  
“That I betrayed your trust when I was pretending to be Caroline Turing. Plus I abducted our precious Harold. Once? Twice.”  
He looked straight back, weighing his answer carefully.  
“Do you really seek or need it, Root? The forgiveness?”  
She averted her eyes, blushing.  
“I might... from you.” She said low.  
“I think we're past that, aren't we?” John said softly.  
“Meaning you wouldn't have taken me into your bed if... we weren't.” Root concluded, still with a questioning voice.  
“I think you worship me much more than I deserve.” John murmured wryly.  
“John.” Root took his hand. “Can you be serious?”  
“It's alright, wildcard.” He sank back onto the sheets, staring at the ceiling. Comfortable right now.  
“No, it's not. I'm serious about it.”  
“Me, too.” He sighed and closed his eyes, getting slightly tired. “Can we drop this now?”  
“Just when _I_ stop teasing you, _you_ continue. Not fair.”  
He smiled half-heartedly. “Thought this was the language you understood best?”  
“Not always.” She looked at him. “Your way is different...”  
Root hesitated one moment, but seeing that she got no answer she huddled beside him, enjoying his nearness. His arm slid around her, pulled her closer and she smiled. Drifted away, fast. With him.

Somewhere around midnight, John woke up again. Felt her beside him, still not gone. Happy about it. Slowly, he started to believe that Root had meant what she had said.   
Longing for her again, he pulled her onto him with one fluid moment, so he could feel her weight and her skin on his body, although his ribs still hurt a little bit.  
His hands reached round to cup her breasts, and that's when he realized she was awake, too.  
“Need more of you.” He rasped in her ear and trailed down to the curve of her waist, a tantalizing play on the soft skin at the top of her thighs. Root allowed the sensational feelings to take over, his touch giving her chills when she felt something hard nudging against her thighs. She arched against him, couldn't get enough of him. Like he couldn't get enough of her, obviously. His hands reached for the sensitive spot between her legs again and Root moaned with pleasure. He really knew now how to play her, making her burn and long for more of him. Answering his actions, she wrapped her hand around the silken hardness of his shaft, stroked purposefully until he gasped and then she let his length glide in her. Pushed herself on him, put pressure on him inside her. Hearing him sighing with pleasure, too. “Wildcard...”  
Root had never expected John to be so passionate... tender, caring, loving, yes... but in such a need of her?  
He was breathing harshly, his erection hot and thick in her. Fitting. Again, she arched against him when he rubbed a sensual point in her, but in the heat of the moment her head collided with the part of his chest where he was still hurt and John couldn't suppress a painful groan. Root reacted at once and stopped the passionate moment. “Sorry, John. I...”  
He just rolled them both to the side, still intertwined, and panted in her ear: “Don't stop.” The feelings were still too powerful and let him forget the pain.   
Instead of answering she took his left hand and put it back on the aching point between her legs. John laughed low. “Bossy?”  
“Leading.” Was her low answer, too.  
“Think... I'm still not up to the one hundred percent initiative yet.” He murmured.  
Now it was her turn to smile. “See? Should leave the seducing to me, then.”  
He knew her well enough to know she was teasing him but her suggestion seemed interesting. Maybe it would show him a part of her... he couldn't evaluate, _yet_.  
“How about more action, then?” He rasped in her ear.  
Root laughed and continued to stimulate him. Sliding away from him, then taking his length inside her again, slow and fast, alternating. In a delicious way. Liking the position he had them both in, spooning her and stimulating her, too. She slid up and thrust down again, holding him so tightly she could feel him throb. Harder. Faster. Again and again. Friction and ecstasy combined. She felt his shaft thicken, her own muscles tighten. One final thrust and they both cried out, John pulsing into Root when she pulsed around him.  
Soon after, they just rested there. John held Root still in his arms, pulled at the sheets and drew them over them. Deeply satisfied.  
“How are your ribs?” She asked him, finally.  
He laughed quietly. “Okay.” He answered.  
“I'm hungry.” Root confessed.  
“You know where the food is.” He simply said, smiling.  
“You want some food, too?”  
He looked at her and shook his head. “Need a little rest.”  
Root kissed him and left the bed, going into the kitchen.  
He heard her making noises there and let sleep take over, _full of trust_ that she would return to his side.

It was late morning when he woke up again due to a loud noise from the street, some cars honking. Feeling the warmth of the naked body beside him, he opened his eyes, checked his watch and saw Root sleeping on her stomach. He smiled upon realizing that she didn't leave and stayed with him. He hadn't been wrong about her.  
Slowly, he touched her hair and felt that it was as silky and fine as he had always imagined. Tenderly, he let his fingers trail down her back and caressed her curvy ass - when he saw the goose bumps. No more sleeping beauty?  
He stretched himself carefully on top of her, whispering in her ear: “Awake? _More_?”  
She suddenly giggled. “Early bird in action?”  
“Not really. But crazy for you.” He admitted.  
She nestled close to him. “I expect breakfast after.”  
He had to grin. “Anything else, my lady?”  
Root seemed to hesitate a moment. Then, she turned around. Watched him. “John.”  
They had gone from the teasing to something serious, he could see it on her face. He straightened on top of her and looked down on her.   
“What else?” Gently.  
“Will you show me?”  
He just observed her, waiting for her to explain.  
“Our ways of doing things are sometimes...completely different...” She paused.  
He raised his eyebrows, not really understanding _what_ Root wanted to say.  
She came up to him, touched his hand. They had done exceptionally well so far, but she wanted to show him _how much_ she really cared for him. Wanted to try it _his way_ , so she continued.  
“...and I know so is your way of making love. - Will you show me?”  
He watched her closely and caught her eyes, a small smile on his lips. Very surprised if he understood her correctly.  
“You really wanna put yourself in _my hands_? No interference?”  
She simply nodded and kissed him shortly, knowing he was teasing her a little bit. But the serious tone stayed in her voice.  
“I... I... never did that before, John. I always took what I wanted and left. Or I was forced to do... what others wanted.” Her short laugh sounded very disheartened and John remembered that she had experienced a lot of bad things as well. “With your _care_ , you won me over. I trust you... absolutely.” She had spoken the word that had a special meaning for them both.  
“Then I won't let you down.” He answered earnestly, sensing what she was getting at.  
And Root felt that John touched her now with a new... reverence _and_ sensibility. There were his tender hands on her body, and all the surprising feelings... the way he stroked her, kissed every bare inch of her skin, caressed her sensitive spot and touched it later with the tip of his tongue. Tasting her. Growing intimate with her body.  
She adapted to his slow ways of lovemaking, let herself fall into him, followed his lead and was overwhelmed at every reaction of her body to his.  
She never felt herself suited for him, but now he showed her that she was... in every way. Never before had she submitted to such an extent. She let him take her in a slow, tender, delicious, sensual, erotic way she hadn't known before. And as a long and wonderful orgasm – so different from the ones she knew - finally hit her, she couldn't hold back a gulp for one moment.  
He held her gently after, trying to calm her. “Are you okay?”  
“I am.” She tried to say, leaning her head cautiously on his bandaged chest. “I'm more than okay...”  
He only smiled and pulled her closer.  
“You see, trust can sometimes be rewarded.”  
She always had a snappy answer ready, but this time she was without one. Could he be right? She laid there for some time in his arms, was quiet and felt protected like never before.  
It was like the world was standing still for a moment, pausing all its action to give them space to breathe and relax. The only thing they allowed was the Machine watching over them and... maybe celebrating (if such a thing were possible).

After the wonderful breakfast he had made for her, Root was hearing the voice in her ear again. John, who knew that special look on her face just waited for her to tell him that she was leaving. They were finally at that point he had dreamt of and dreaded at the same time. Was it more than an intense one-night stand? More than a pastime?  
“I'll have to go.” Oh, how he knew those words. He watched her, silent. And now? He still was not really sure... _if_ she wanted to return. He waited tensely for her next comment.  
“Dinner is ready... when?” Root just asked, unsure of the outcome herself, but wanting to return so badly that she couldn't stop from asking.  
“Wait...” He inhaled deeply. “That means you will come back tonight?”  
Root stared back at him, then started to smile. “ _I_ will. Are _you_ sure about that?”  
He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched. “Would _I_ ask, then?”  
“John.” She smiled. “I'm simply not used to this kind of situation. - But I would love to return, after doing _her_ bidding. - Let me... come home to you, John.” Still smiling, she kissed him.  
“I'll wait for you.” He promised and Root left.  
John let her go, content in knowing this would be how life would go on between them from now on. But as long as his wildcard returned, it would mean more. It would mean _new chances_. For them both.


End file.
